Just Listen
by 0Life-is-a-Song0
Summary: A child prodigy at the age of 5, Roxas hasn't had much of a life outside the musical world. His father controls every aspect of his life. What once was a passion has become a job. Until he meets Axel. Loud, loving Axel. The Axel that encourages freedom.
1. Saylon Dola

_XD New Story!!_

_Hopeless? Not quite! I'm going to update this one as regularly as Tantalize, never fear!!!_

_I know, I know... I should wait for the other three to be finished. I just can't though! It sticks in my head until I get it out, so it's a lost cause :(_

_This one is different from the others... well, they're all different from each other, but that's beside the point. This is kind of angsty with a slight mental "disorder" sort of feel to it, but only for one character. And that would be Roxas. :3 I can't help it. But, it migh start slow... this is just the prologue._

_Warning: LOTS of references to MUSIC! And Yaoi. Don't like music or yaoi? Then don't read :3_

_Summary: A child prodigy by the age of 5. Able to create masterpieces in mere minutes, symphonies that could bring tears anyone's eyes. Roxas's life has been planned for him since his father first heard him pick up an instrument, and music has been that life. Pushed by his world famous mentor to succeed Roxas has been under his father's thumb since he was 5. At the age of 19 he's ready to take the title of world's greatest composer since Beethoven, but it doesn't feel right. All Roxas wanted to do was play, but suddenly he's tired of playing. And then he meets Axel. Axel, a simple violinist for his father's orchestra; Axel, a rough and ready upstart that loves to have fun and loves to live. Axel, the one person that's ever encouraged him to play for himself, and to break free from the boundaries his father set for him. Axel, the one person in the world that Roxas is scared to know, because Roxas is scared to love._

Disclaimer- Hmm... let me see... *glances around box cover* let's take a looksie... oh! Wait! Oh... no... nope. Can't find my name anywhere on this stupid Kingdom Hearts box. Well, guess it can't belong to me then :(I'll keep looking though!

_Chapter Songs- Saylon Dola and Dalla: Caruso_

_Enjoy! :)_

* * *

The polished wooden piano stood proudly under the spotlight, center stage and turned at the slightest angle for a better view of the musician. The ivory keys gleamed from the fresh polish that a stage hand had administered and they shined with a pearl's luster. The instrument was a beautiful piece, a Bosendorfer grand piano crafted and shipped straight from Vienna that carried a tune to perfection with clarity and angelic style. Even an untrained hand that managed to touch a key could make a symphony with the beauty that the piano held.

But it was no untrained hand that pressed the keys so wonderfully.

Roxas Strife watched as his father made magic with music. He was hiding behind one of the many large and heavy stage curtains, peering inconspicuously onto the stage as he studied his mentor's movements with avid bright blue eyes. He was not old enough to understand the concept of looking both ways while crossing the street, and he did not understand the concept of mathematics. He did not understand his cousin's obsession with toy figurines, and he did not understand why he couldn't have dessert before dinner. No, Roxas did not understand many things, but he did understand the concept of music, and it was music he was drawn to. It was music he knew and music he loved.

Music was a part of him.

Another thing Roxas couldn't understand was the adults around him that argued whether they should keep him in the dressing room until after the performance. What did it matter if he was watching his father make magic? What did it matter if he was backstage? He was not like his cousin, Sora, who would have already ruined the concert with his excitement and eager disposition. He was not wild and unruly. Even when he tried to explain this, the stage manager laughed and said that he should go and wait in the dressing room, motioning him away with large, calloused hands from manual labor. Manual labor, not calluses from music.

Because of that man with the hard working hands, Roxas made sure that no one saw him watching his father avidly. He made sure that the stage manager didn't see him as he studied how his father's long and elegant fingers stroked each key reverently, coaxing the mystery from the very depths of the tool, his eyes half closed in humility and concentration.

Now that, Roxas could understand.

Roxas was no fool for his age. When he was younger he was not like the other five year old children that frolicked in the courtyard at his private school. When recess was going on you would find Roxas locked in the music room, small, child-like fingers pressing the keys of the piano with a similar humble reverence that his father had. If he was not at the piano he was slowly and carefully plucking the strings of a violin or running his hands through wind chimes. When the music teacher had rushed in to see who was invading her classroom one day, she had found Roxas sitting on the floor in the dark room, surrounded by a cello, a viola, a small percussion drum, a cymbal, and a recorder was pressed to his lips.

He hadn't noticed her entrance, and as the teacher made her way over to scold him, she found that her steps faltered as she stopped to listen to what he was doing. Instead of banging on everything and ruining her priceless tools, the teacher had been surprised to see that he was creating a beat with the drum, a hissing back drop with the cymbal, and a beautiful tune with the rest of the instruments. His eyes were lowered and his breath was soft as he played, the song continuing for the duration of five minutes before Roxas suddenly stilled and looked up, glowing blue eyes unfocused as he met her shocked stare.

"I'm sorry," He said in an innocent voice, standing up and setting the viola off of his lap and onto the floor. "I'll put it all back right now." As he made a move to break the beauty he'd just created, the teacher grabbed his hand softly and crouched down to his height, her tired eyes probing.

"Where did you learn to play like that, child?" She asked in soft, coaxing tones. In her prime, she'd been an opera singer for the finest musical halls of Europe, and the lilt in her voice gave it away. She could carry a tune flawlessly, she could hold out a note for many stanzas without growing tired, and the theater life had taken her talent and run with it. At the age of 35 she was drawn and felt old with the pangs of decade old running and traveling and performing until she could perform no longer. But music was still her passion, and she could tell the good from the bad instantly.

"I didn't learn it." Roxas replied quietly, poking out his bottom lip.

"You must have learned that somewhere… did your father teach you? Did you hear it on the radio?" The teacher was persistent but Roxas was firm.

"I didn't learn that; I made it just now." He said defensively, disliking the way she looked at him.

"You made it up, just like that?" She asked, face still twisted in shock. Roxas nodded slowly, unsure if he was doing the right thing or not. She seemed to cling to his words like they were magic, and he didn't like it.

"It's still in the air now." Roxas pointed upwards, his tone still firm and sure of himself. Glancing up at the ceiling and then back down, the teacher looked at him curiously. "I can still hear it… can't you hear it?" He frowned at her befuddled stare. Was he really the only one who heard it?

"You… can hear music?" Her eyes brightened at the thought.

"Yes… it's everywhere. I want to play it, to get it out of my head" He pressed a fist to his temple and his frown deepened. "It hurts my heart sometimes, to not play. It stays there and keeps playing until I get rid of it." Nodding slowly, he was scared to look up at the teacher. Now she'd know he was a weirdo, a freak according to his classmates. He heard things no one else heard.

But instead of telling him he was a freak, she took his hand gently and then walked over to the piano, setting him on the large stool and motioning him to play. A little worried about what she would do, he pressed his fingers to the keys softly, and when she didn't scold him he began to play the things that whispered in his ears.

As he did so, the teacher grabbed the class phone and called his father, her face twisted into wonder as the secretary picked up and asked who was speaking.

"Yes, this is Ms. Olette, Roxas Strife's music teacher. I need to speak with his father as soon as possible, please." She paused as the woman asked snidely if the message was impertinent for Mr. Strife to get that day. Glancing over at Roxas, Olette nodded slowly as he played innocently.

"Yes, yes… this is about his son. It's extremely important." With a soft sigh the secretary patched her through the line and within moments a cold and soft voice answered.

"_Ms. Olette?" _His tone was cool and distanced.

"Yes, Mr. Strife, it's an honor to speak with you… I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"_Preparations for the upcoming recital; I'm in a bit of a hurry though, may I ask what my son has done that requires you calling me?"_ His words were biting and calculative, and Olette was a bit put off by his harsh words. It was like speaking to a cold and ruthless snake.

"Have you been giving your son lessons with music?" She asked as she watched Roxas work his fingers across the keys.

"_No, lessons were going to start in a year or so with the masters…why?" _Again, the brusque tone.

"I can't… explain it. Here; just listen." Holding the phone to the piano she smiled as Roxas bent his frame over the piano, stroking his fingers along the keys with a passion that no normal five year old should have. She stood behind him, making sure that he didn't see her, making sure that he would continue the beauty that made her own heart ache at.

After a few moments she raised the mouth piece to her lips and stepped a little out of the classroom to keep the conversation from her student's ears.

"I walked in on him playing my other instruments with equally wonderful talent, Mr. Strife. He said that no one taught him, and you also say no one has taught him." She shook her head slowly in amazement. There was silence on the other end, a soft breath of air, and then he spoke.

_"And you have not been teaching him?"_

"No sir, the year one class gets the wooden blocks and the small bells until they're older." Again, the muted silence on his end, a silence that she took as one of surprise and slight wonderment. It was not hard to picture the musician leaned back in his chair, eyes wide with shock.

And yet when he spoke, his tone indicated none of this.

_"I will send someone by to pick him up soon, and I would like you to give me the extension number with the office. I am going to take Roxas out of school immediately."_ Olette gasped in surprise and could only stare, Roxas's music still playing in the air.

"Sir, are you sure that's wise? Music like this should be nourished and fed to help grow and school would certainly-"

_"Stamp it down and mold it to what is considered right for this day and age. I won't have his talent wasted on that, Ms. Olette. What is the extension number?"_ His tone was hard and ungiving, and Olette knew deep down that he wouldn't change his mind even if she fought his decision. Quickly rattling it off the number, Olette numbly hung up and walked back into the room to stare at Roxas playing, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Slowly, he stopped playing, his eyes on the piano keys.

"My father's sending someone for me, isn't he?" Roxas asked quietly, his fingers still on the keys.

"Yes." Olette whispered, moving to stand near him. He turned, his small and angelic face twisted towards hers with a knowledge that broke her heart.

"And I'm not going to this school after today." It wasn't a question, and that hit her worst of all.

"Yes." She whispered again. Roxas sighed and clamored off of the stool, face too haunted for his age of five years.

"You shouldn't have called him. Now he knows I hear things. Now he'll make me go away." Slowly and carefully he put the instruments away and then grabbed his book bag from near the door. Grabbing the handle, he looked up with shiny blue eyes and gave her a wistful stare.

"Now I'm going to go away and never come back." He informed her, his tone child-like and firm. Olette could only stare numbly, her shock still written all over her face.

"Yes." She whispered again as he opened the door and gave her a small wave before leaving. Sinking into her chair she stared at the door he had just left, feeling like she'd just missed something dreadfully important. That boy… Roxas…was a lot sharper than his peers. There was something about him, something grave and solemn that most children didn't have. It was like he was much older than his five years, his soul aged and tired.

Olette suddenly wished that she hadn't called his father.

That was a year ago.

Roxas watched as his father pranced his fingers along the canvas of music, the tone ringing loud and true and pure. Roxas hadn't been back to his old private school since that day, and he had been enrolled into another school, a private college that had also listened to his music with looks of awe on their faces. When he had finished playing the music that made his heart hurt, the administrators had watched him carefully, words like, "amazing," "can hardly believe," and, "child prodigy," falling from their lips in hushed tones. Roxas had seen this as he had stood up from the piano and taken his place next to his father, a heavy hand falling onto his shoulder in a way that could be interpreted as paternal comfort.

He'd been accepted that very day, the youngest student to attend the school since it had been created.

The song ended much sooner than Roxas could have wanted, the last ringing note haunting and crossing his mind with a million others that grasped for his attention. His father stood up from the bench, ice blue eyes sweeping over the crowd as the audience stood up and applauded profusely, their calls of, "brava!" and, "encore!" echoing around the grand performance hall like waves of cheering that made Roxas's head ache. Flowers were tossed onto the stage as he bowed deeply and let a small smile warm his chilling gaze as his fingers brushed the piano behind him.

Something in his stare shook Roxas to the core as he straightened his back and then reached for the microphone that had been set up near the piano.

"And as a final performance, my son, Roxas Strife, will be making his debut with a piece he's written on his own." The crowd's applause staggered for a moment, shock probably echoing through all of them before it picked up with renewed vigor, excitement clear in the whistles and calls for Roxas. Roxas stayed in his place in the wings though, frozen in fear and surprise. No one had told him he'd be performing. He didn't know what he was going to do, scared out of his wits at the idea of so many eyes on him. The music around him shuddered along with him, playing a solemn tune along his heart.

Roxas's father turned and his cold, ungiving eyes peered through the curtains until he found Roxas, his eyes narrowing and a small flick of the wrist signaling that Roxas should join him. Half frozen in shock and fear, Roxas felt his legs jerk towards his father, obedience instilled in him since he could understand the words, "Yes, sir." Against his will he went to stand under the bright, hot lights next to the man who made magic.

"Roxas Strife, ladies and gentlemen." His father swept an arm over his shoulder and steered him to the piano, setting the microphone back in the stand easily. As Roxas sat on the leather bench, his father adjusted the silly coat tails on his jacket and smoothed his sleeves. He smelled of the sharp scent of an herb Roxas couldn't name, underlying the light twist of sweat under the stage lights. Roxas breathed it in for comfort.

"Play what you hear, Roxas." His father whispered in his ear, his tone businesslike and cold. It was a tone that meant no playing around. "Play what you hear, and forget them. They mean nothing to you, or your music." Standing up, he swept an arm to Roxas, and they crowd applauded again, eager.

As silence descended over the area, Roxas felt his heart in his throat. He heard his father's custom made leather shoes carry him into the wings, and he knew that he was alone, and very, very scared on stage. Everyone was watching, and everyone was waiting. He could feel the hunch in his back as he hunkered over the keys, and he could feel the heat on his neck from the lights. Must it be so _hot_ on stage? He felt his blood burning under the heat and he realized that he couldn't hear the music. He couldn't hear anything anymore, the burning in his head taking away the noise and leaving him helpless. The silence pressed in close to him, making his heart hurt and his lungs squeeze tightly and it _hurt_ to feel so much pressure that was building, and-

His hands slammed down on the keys, making a jarring, teeth grinding noise.

The crash of notes struck the air and echoed around the stage, circling round and round as the audience stared agape at the boy. Was this what they paid to hear? They leaned in and looked at one another, whispering in confusion. Roxas wasn't paying attention to them anymore though because suddenly he could hear the music, the sweet, blessed music that his noise made, and as his heart burned he pressed his fingers to the keys and let the sweet sound of freedom burst from the hand crafted wood and circulate the shocked room.

* * *

Roxas stood up from the stool, his cheeks flushed with blood from the heat. All around him the echoing of clapping and cheering pressed against his ears and hurt his head while soothing his heart at the same time. He peered into the shadows of the concert hall and could see vague faces, ecstatic and happy faces that seemed to all be looking at him as they shouted his name and suddenly roses and flowers fell onto the stage from happy viewers who believed him worthy. He just stood there though, breathing in the yells and swallowing them whole, his heart glowing happily at their praise.

Above the cheering though he could also hear the steady thudding of his father's custom made shoes as he walked onto stage and took his side next to Roxas, a hand on his shoulder like it had been when he'd presented his music to the board of director's of his private school. It was meant to be comforting, but it merely took some of the pride away from him and put it on his father's shoulders. Now that he was away from the piano, the magic faded from his father and made him seem merely human.

"My son, ladies and gentlemen." Roxas's dad announced, dropping his hand to the small of Roxas's back as he bowed, pushing his son to bow as well. Roxas dropped, his head barely turning to see his father looking at him with unfathomable eyes. The cheering swelled and grew, washing over them and just when Roxas was feeling the glow of their appreciation again his father straightened up and lifted a hand, motioning for Roxas to follow. Turning abruptly he began to make his way off stage as the curtains began to fall, his custom made leather shoes hitting the ground with purposeful _thud_'s. Roxas hurried after him, his softer, smaller shoes echoing his father's footsteps with lighter, softer _thwak_'s.

"Get the limo ready, I don't want to fight my way to the airport." His father said the moment they hit backstage. Roxas dodged around the bustling people and reached Mr. Strife's long legged strides with his shorter ones.

"Yes Mr. Strife-"

"And get me the number for my lawyer, I want contracts drawn up for the next concert and I want my son's name added to it."

"They'll be asking for more money for you adding him to this one, Mr. Strife-"

"I don't care; they want money? I can afford their prices."

"Of course, Mr. Strife."

"And get me the number for Roxas's personal tutor, I want to update him on the current situation we're in."

"Should I call or do you want to call, Mr. Strife?"

"I'll call; I don't want you messing up the information with your forgetfulness."

"Naturally, Mr. Strife."

"And while you're at it, get Roxas's mother on the phone; I'd like her to stop touring with her fashion industry and visit her son for once."

"Of course, Mr. Strife."

Roxas struggled to keep up with the fast paced conversation that his father was having with his newest secretary. As they reached the dressing room he stepped in after them and made his way to the small couch that had his spare change of clothes and a portable cd player for the plane ride home.

"And Yuna?" His father turned to stare her down. A little taken aback, she stepped back and frowned.

"Yes, Mr. Strife?" She asked hesitantly.

"Can you get out of the dressing room so that my son and I may change?" He asked snidely. Startled, she jumped back and fumbled for her PDA that held their schedule on it as she turned and opened the door.

"Oh! Of course, of course Mr. Strife!" She exclaimed, stepping out and closing the door behind her. As she left, Roxas's father swept a hand through his soft blonde hair and took his performance jacket off. Turning to face the mirror, he looked at his son through the reflection and took in his humble, solemn expression. He did not look like his heart was drinking in the compliments of thousands of people, and he did not look like a child that had just preformed for millions on live TV and in front of men who took in 8 digits minimum on their salary.

He looked much, much older than his six years of age.

"You froze up." His father commented as he took a napkin and wiped off the stage makeup that had circled his eyes to make them stand out. Nodding slowly, Roxas agreed.

"The music- it stopped playing in my ears; everything was so, so quiet." Roxas replied in his soft, firm voice. His father wiped the sweat from his forehead and began undoing the cumber bun and bowtie so that he could grab his regular somber black business suit and plain silver tie.

"It was quiet so that you could hear it." His father replied without any pity in his voice. Nodding slowly, Roxas watched the floor as his foot swung idly, legs not quite long enough to touch the ground.

"Do… dad, do _you_ hear the music?" Roxas asked, uncertain of himself. His father let out a soft bark of laughter and turned to view his child with raised eyebrows.

"No. I do not hear the music in the air, son. I make the music in the air." He raised an eyebrow and coldly looked Roxas up and down. "You have a gift that many people would want, and it is my job to show you how to utilize it."

"But where did my gift-"

"Roxas, enough questions." His father snapped sternly. Cutting his words off, Roxas nodded with a soft, "Yes, sir." Under his breath.

"Your little display at the beginning played into the piece, but that was luck. You do not show them that you're hassled. You do not bang the keys, you do not slam your hands onto the keys. You make them think you're in control. You make them think that you are everything, and remind them who they came to see. I do not care if you do not hear the music; from now on you will be the music." Swiftly changing, his father made each word harsh and solid, each inflection hitting home in Roxas's ears. He could be the music? He could be the thing that drifts on the currents of the air and caresses the thoughts so beautifully? The idea was absolutely wonderful.

He followed his father out through the door where there was chaos once again, everyone rushing about and shouting. The music pressed against Roxas as he heard the taps of feet, the rustle of clothing, the buzz of phones, and the breath of the frantic. Yuna stepped up and walked with them, her voice carrying over the din as she brought Mr. Strife up to speed. Reaching the back door, Roxas felt his heart warm and glow as the sounds of more cheering met his ears. There were thick, red velvet ropes that blocked people from pushing him, and as they walked out he was surprised that people called his name, and his father's name. "Cloud!" and, "Roxas!" merged with one another, and Roxas's heart glowed. Yuna kept him in the middle of the walkway so that no one could touch him, but their voices made music in his soul as he smiled to everyone, a hesitant and nervous smile.

The limo pulled up and Mr. Strife got inside, his phone suddenly to his ear and his face cold. Yuna motioned for Roxas to get in as well, but as Roxas moved to get in, a small hand tugged his and he looked back, curious. A boy a few years older than he stood there, hand in his and a bright, shining smile on his face. His skin was pale like Roxas's, but what startled Roxas the most was his flaming red hair that stood out in crazy spikes off of his head. Roxas blinked, and then he was staring into lovely green eyes that made his heart glow even more and the music pressed against his ears, demanding that he play.

"Here… I liked your music." The boy's voice was soft and welcoming as he pushed something thin and long into Roxas's free hand. It's hard and some parts were pointy with a soft, blooming top that felt like velvet as Roxas touched it and something in his head said that it's a rose, that someone liked his music and had given him a rose. Looking back at the boy with the bright green eyes, Roxas was half aware that the boy still had his hand and was staring at him with something like awe in his eyes.

"You… like my song?" Roxas asked softly, eyes wide. Someone had liked his song, and someone had given him a rose. His heart grew jumpy and hot and the music played louder in his ears. The boy's smile widened and he nodded eagerly, so full of hot energy that notes began erupting in Roxas's ears with his smile alone.

"It was awesome. The bang at first and then the soft build up… it was cool. My mom says that I should give you a rose for sounding good, so I did." His grin grew brighter and white hot light fell in Roxas's eyes from his smile because it was just so pure and just so happy that it made Roxas dizzy to think about it as he felt his lips tug up and he couldn't help but move the rose up to his lips to feel the velvet softness against his skin.

"Th- thank you." He managed to say, and it hits him that the boy's hand is still holding his and that the music is building and that he wants to make a song about the boy because he was sure that if he didn't it would hurt his heart not to. He moves closer to the boy who's proud and happy and he can't help but feel wonderful for being so close to the person who's making the music in his ears so happy.

"It's no problem! I'm taking violin and piano lessons so that one day I can sound like you. I'm older than you though so I'll have to play catch up." Roxas doesn't understand catch up but he does like how the boy wants to sound like him and how he's older and wants to be like him.

"How old are you?" He asks in that same soft voice, the rose still pressed to his skin.

"I'm ten." The boy said proudly, jabbing his chest. Roxas leaned in closer, entranced by this ten year old that gave him a rose and made the music loving and kind against his ears.

"And… are you-"

"Come on Roxas, your father's waiting and might I add _very_ impatiently?" Yuna grabbed the crook of Roxas's arm and pulled, yanking the boy's hand from his and making him stumble back to the limo. Roxas managed to catch himself and as he did he chanced a glance back to see the boy with the smooth, pale skin, fiery hair, and bright, shiny green eyes staring at him with a smile, a genuine smile that makes the glowing in his chest burn brighter as he pressed the oh so soft rose against his cheek and managed to smile back before Yuna closed the door, cutting off his first real meeting with someone who made the music better.

Yes, Roxas did not understand many things. He didn't understand the concept of business, and he did not understand the concept of money. He did not understand the concept of literature and he did not understand the concept of recess. He did not understand the concept of making friends and he did not understand the idea of big, fancy limos and jet planes. What he did understand though was music, and music was his life. Music was his passion, and as he pressed the rose to his lips again he felt the glow of the music around him and he felt the corners of his lips rise up a little.

His father said that he had to become music. Roxas thinks that meeting that boy was the first step.

* * *

_Hit or miss? Let me know in a review! _

_It hit me just now that this could be a one-shot... but I already have the next few chapters lined up so this is going to be a multi-chapter whether you like it or not!_

_And I warned you, right? This is going to be a very musically oriented story with classical songs and what not. It's not going to all be concerts but you get what I mean..._

_I know, it sounds boring at first, right? But, it's going to pick up around ch. 3 so please bare with me! And please review because that'll give me some idea with how to work... please and thanks!_

_I'll update soon!_


	2. Nocturne

_:D Thanks for all of the reviews guys! I loved seeing what you had to say! You're all so wonderful!_

_This is definitely going to be music oriented, but more of a classical kind of music... except for a few chapters that I've got planned :3 those are different songs entirely._

_Ahem,_

_Just a word to the wise... the verb tenses are a mix of past and present... that IS intentional. That is a part of how Roxas sees things and it used to work with the story... so there is past tense and present tense, depending on the situation._

_Chapter Songs: Exile (Enya) Piano Battle (Jay Chou) and Nocturne (Debussy)_

_:) Enjoy!_

* * *

Roxas is eight years old.

By this time he has performed so many times that he has lost count, and he has mastered every instrument that has caught his interest or has been handed to him. He has won competitions and has put out CD's that sold by the millions. His angelic face has been in a few small commercials and he's easily recognized as the "Angel of Music". He has been on TV shows where he was interviewed by people who couldn't hear the music like he could, and people who laughed at his "childish" antics when he said he could hear music all around them. He was a revered child, a "special" child that attended a school that catered only to music, and he was the youngest child there. The second youngest at The Academy of the Oblivion Arts was nineteen, eleven years his senior and in a graduating class two years younger than his.

By this time Roxas has been given many roses and many teddy bears, his room full of letters from people who say they look up to him, which is silly to him because he's so much shorter than they are. Their applause and their cheering have long since lost its appeal to Roxas since his father said that it was only out of envy that they call his name. He has learned many, many things during his performances and his schooling, but appreciation of others was not one of them. No, the only time he truly appreciated another's words of kindness was years before when a boy had dared to grab his hand and tell him his music was amazing.

But he'd long since forgotten about that.

"Tifa, I understand that you're in the middle of the fall fashion debut, but I think that your son's upcoming performance is a little more important than your clothing line." Roxas's father, Cloud Strife, sat next to him on the jet as he argued on the jet's phone with Roxas's mother. They were both dressed in black dress suits with starched white shirts and red ties so vibrant that it hurt to look at, their custom made leather shoes the latest fashion from Milan.

"Yes… yes; I know, we've been over this a million times. You did say, however, that you planned on being in attendance to his graduation performance." Roxas idly twirled his foot, his leg not quiet long enough to reach the jet's floor, even after two years.

The school Roxas went to was a college academy of the arts, and after three years there was a graduation with a degree in the arts. Roxas would also be graduating the youngest of his class, the second youngest in his class being twenty two. The kids that were nineteen were in classes younger than his.

"He's at the top of his class, Tifa, God dammit, and I'm not going to let you blow this. I can see Vogue magazine now; 'Fall Fashion show a major hit, fashion stylista Tifa Strife missing her son's graduation in order to coach her clothing line down the runway." Roxas's father spat into the phone. He was angry, Roxas knew, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. His mother and father alike had made so many promises that had been broken so many times that he stopped caring. If he'd gone to the graduation alone with Yuna then he wouldn't have minded. The only solid thing in his life since he was five was Yuna, the secretary that replaced the snide, biting lady named Paine. Her, and his bodyguards that his father had hired after he'd been accosted by a very enthusiastic woman about his music were the only things he could always count on.

That and the music.

"Don't you dare bring that up, there was a meeting with the record producer that day and maybe if you'd bothered to call we would have been able to work something out. Instead of you communicating with me though, you sat at the mansion in L.A. with your pissed off attitude when it was your own damn fault." Roxas looked out of the window, uninterested in what was going on around him. He just wanted to feel an instrument in his hands, something tangible and something that helped get the music out of his head that was hurtful sometimes. If the music stayed too long inside of him, it began to hurt too much to keep it there.

That's why he played in the first place.

He was a child prodigy in the magazines and tabloids. The things he created baffled people even fifty years his senior, and the way he described it turned heads. With just a pencil, paper, and five minutes he could have a symphony well underway, the music ringing in his ears as he hummed it under his breath. Some called it talent, some called it a miracle, and some called it genetics.

Roxas called it magic.

"No, I won't calm down, you're honestly doing this out of spite. What, do you want to talk to the _boy_ yourself and explain why you're missing this…?" Roxas nodded silently along, already used to the drill and the way of things. Sometimes his mother was feeling gracious and would say yes, to let her talk to the _boy_ and explain things, and she would inform him of the facts and hang up. Sometimes she wouldn't feel so loving and would cuss his father out before hanging up. His father would put his phone away with a look of disgust marring his fine features.

It had been like that since the divorce.

"Of course, Tifa. Yes, yes, yes; let's blame _me_ for the mistake you made nine or ten years ago. Yes, let's blame _me_ for your decision to date me, let alone marry me." Letting out a sigh so quiet Roxas didn't even hear it, Roxas stood up and walked down the jet walkway to the front of the jet where his bodyguards stood, alert for any trouble.

Roxas liked his bodyguards. They were so different from each other, one a direct contrast from his partner that he'd made a song about it for a performance. He wasn't allowed to say who it was about though because father said that it was wrong to make songs about bodyguards; it was right to make songs about nature and love and loss, but not something with such a low class job.

"Hey kid, what's up?" The loud one asked, winking playfully. He had hair the color of blood, most of it spiked up lazily but a small patch of it long and pulled into a thin, flowing ponytail. He had startling pine green eyes that had a way of looking at someone, and his pale skin was like crème. He always wore the same set of goggles that he had pushed up to keep his bangs from his face, and he'd gotten tattoos on his face, a swoop on either side of his eyes. He said that they didn't hurt when he got them, but his partner always snorted when he said that.

His partner was tall, broad shouldered, and serious looking. He was a deep tan-ish brown color like toffee, and he was bald. He had a slight moustache like 5 o'clock shadow that surrounded his mouth and lined his jaw, but it looked purposeful instead of lazy. Roxas didn't know what color of eyes he had because he always wore the frameless, thin and sleek black glasses. His black suit, white shirt, and black tie set was always crisp and sharp as opposed to his partner who didn't wear his tie and his shirt was slightly unbuttoned and untucked.

"Father's talking to mother again." Roxas let out the soft reply, scuffing his custom made shoe on the floor. The loud one, Reno shook his head sympathetically while the quiet one, Rude, blinked behind his glasses, his mouth twitching to show his dissatisfaction.

"That's not turning out so well, huh." Reno asked as Roxas nodded slowly. Roxas didn't really like talking because people always talked to him like he was a child, but Reno always just said what was on his mind and didn't care who heard. It was nice that he didn't talk down to Roxas, so Roxas didn't mind saying what was on his mind either.

"She's at a fashion show." Roxas explained, looking back where his father had long since hung up and was busying himself with looking through his briefcase for schedules and other paperwork that Roxas didn't really care about. Reno nodded slowly at that before he gave a quick glance to Roxas's father and then leaned down so that he could look Roxas in the eye.

"If I were you, I'd jump off the plane to escape the drama." Reno said conversationally. Beside him, Rude kicked him in the shin.

"Don't give him any stupid ideas; he's not like you." Rude said in a low, slightly exasperated tone. Grinning wildly, Reno nodded eagerly and winked at Roxas's slightly shocked face.

"I know, Roxas is a lot smarter than I was when I was eight. But, I had more fun. I'd jump with a parachute and just let loose some pent up frustration." He said with a low laugh. Roxas nodded in agreement; he was smarter than Reno when Reno was his age. But then again, apparently he was smarter than a lot of people for his age. He didn't know how though; his father hadn't taught him the basic principles for schooling. He didn't know math and science; he didn't understand grammar and hardly knew much about history unless it was music oriented. His father said that with his gift and his future he didn't have to know those things, but Roxas wasn't sure about that. Shouldn't he know how to multiply and long divide and use fractions like other boys his age? But his father said no, so that was that.

In front of him, Reno and Rude were playfully arguing about whether or not Roxas would jump off of the plane.

"He's got his life ahead of him-"

"Yeah but the stress is no fun!"

"He thinks logically-"

"And is bored out of his mind!"

"He knows the pros and cons whilst you think in the moment-"

"And that makes you jealous because of the people I bring home."

"Why would that make me jealous?"

"Because you secretly want me."

"I hardly think that-"

"I wouldn't jump because my father told me not to do something stupid that would mean more work for him." Roxas's quiet voice drew their attention away from one another, and both of them turned to look down at him with equally wide eyes. There were times, Roxas knew, that the people who did talk to him were just a little scared of him. Or scared for him, more likely. He knew some people didn't understand him, and even those he often talked to were a little wary of him. Smiling in a vague way, Roxas shrugged at their expectant gazes.

"What do you mean?" Reno asked suspiciously.

"I have too many things in the schedule to just jump off of a plane. If something happened, a lot of money would be wasted and I'd miss graduation." Roxas spoke gently, his words purely factual and nothing more, but it still caused Reno and Rude to stare at him like he'd said something wrong. Perhaps to them, he had. His father would have nodded and approved of his explanation though, so that was all that truly mattered.

"And if you jumped, I'd miss you reminding me just how much I dislike your father." Reno said with a wicked grin. Rude kicked him again, but when Roxas cracked a small, barely there smile at that Reno didn't feel so bad about making fun of his boss.

The rumors about him were true though; Cloud Strife was a hard working son-of-a-gun. He was a world renowned musician that created musical numbers that he also conducted with his own orchestra of people from his own business that he built with the help of his lawyer. He made millions off of songs that he created, and he made billions by recognizing young upstarts who could make it big. When his own son became a part of the business it was rumored that the young child didn't have what it took because of his seemingly gentle disposition. Now the rumor was that he was talented enough to yank the business right out from under his father's nose.

Cloud Strife was all about business though, and hardly took the time to teach his son about being a child. He was so concerned with his talent and with his music that he often neglected any other aspect of Roxas's life.

Not that Roxas would complain.

He let out a soft sigh and turned away from his bodyguards, already dreading the hours to come. He had a performance that night, and then they'd be off, flying back to Twilight Town for his graduation performance. It was rumored that the young opera singing sensation Charlotte Church would show up to cheer for him in the audience, but Roxas didn't care if she showed up to cheer.

No, he cared about music. She played music and she made music, and that's all he liked, really. She would be singing right after he played, and Roxas wanted to hear her sing. That's the only reason he liked her; she had the voice of an angel.

Passing his father he made his way to the back area with the small bed that had been installed just for him. There was a stereo system that would play music in surround sound format so that he would have the noise he needed for rest, but on the plane it wasn't necessarily needed. The jet made its own noises that could lull the music into a stupor and allow Roxas the rest he needed.

As he curled up on the bed in his suit, he quietly watched as Yuna made a point to check in on him. Yes, she was a constant for the past few years, but how long would that last? How long had Paine lasted? How long had Selphi lasted? How long had the ones before them lasted? Yuna had lasted for three years, but Roxas wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about a lot of things, and the one thing he knew he'd never be sure of would be his father. His cold moods and emotional detachment were always there, but in different ways. One moment he might say that the music was the key and then the next he'd say that music was the tool. It always made Roxas confused, and it always made the tunes in his head shift into something a little darker and a little meaner.

And when the music did that it brought tears to his eyes.

* * *

The performance was in Atlantica, a small island country just south east of The United States. There was a grand music hall there, complete with seating for 2,500 and a large, shell-like dome to trap the music in and around the people. The price to even enter Atlantica was about 300 munny per person, and for a seat the prices started at 1,000 munny. For some of the best seating it cost about 6,000 munny. Roxas was not nervous to see that every single seat in the audience was filled; he hadn't been nervous in a very long time.

He was peeking through the curtains on stage right, waiting with his father before the announcer would call him onto the stage. He would walk slowly, like his father said, and he would make sure that every eye was on him before he'd begin to entrance them. That was the key to performing. Reel them in, and then keep them there.

"Remember, follow what you wrote, not what you hear." Roxas's father told him sternly, his voice cold. Roxas couldn't remember a time when his father's voice wasn't described as cold; it always had that tip of the iceberg sound that drew shivers down Roxas's spine.

"Why can't I play what I hear?" Roxas asked him quietly.

"Because they didn't come to listen to what you hear; they came to listen to what they bought on the CD." His father snapped, and Roxas knew what he was going to say next. He always said it when Roxas asked a question. "No more questions, Roxas. Just do as you're told."

"Yes, sir." Roxas replied easily, automatically.

And then the announcer was calling his name and the crowd was applauding, their shouts and whistles urging him onto the stage like he was a marionette and they the puppet masters. His custom made leather shoes made a soft tapping noise that echoed around him in the slowly growing silence as he made his trek to the Steinway piano that was polished and gleaming under the stage lights. The stool had been adjusted so that he could easily reach the pedals but play at the same time without any difficulty because of his short legs. Glancing to his left he could see the small orchestra pit that held a few people that were ready to add in the small sound effects to his piano. When one of them saw him watching they winked, but he looked away before he could be expected to respond.

Climbing onto the stool Roxas took a deep breath, his face cast down onto the ivory keys that gleamed up at him invitingly. The keys whispered to him, invited him and pulled him in closer, tempting him with their secrets. You see, Roxas could hear the notes on the piano before it ever played; without anyone's help the piano created music on its own, music that was lilting and soft, music that was rough and biting.

It was Roxas's job to let everyone else hear it.

"I'll help you." He whispered to the keys as he lightly placed his fingers on the ivory. Ever so softly he sighed, head bent and shoulders hunched in the way that would make his father sick. It was a plot though, and it caused several people to lean in as they waited for his onslaught to begin, just like he planned it.

The music was playing in the air around him, showing him what to play and telling him what he should do, but he ignored it. It hurt him to lock it away, but it's what he had to do. His father said to play the songs on the CD, and that's what he had to do. Even if he hurt his heart to ignore the things that made him feel like flying, he'd do it.

His father was far more scarier than the music.

His mind coolly selected the song he wanted to start with, a song that would entrance them with its power and its inner meaning. Something that would make them beg for more, just like his father said. He had to power to do it, why shouldn't he? And yet… he felt sick. Why would music be used that way? Why would he manipulate everyone with the one thing that was meant to set them free? He let out a hiss of breath, hating how he was always being torn apart by the indecision, the face of his father haunting him with the pain of not playing. He felt like he might cry, but crying was for wimps, and his father said he couldn't be a wimp, couldn't be a coward. He lifted his fingers and gave a soft plea of forgiveness, eyes closed reverently.

And then he played.

It was fast, his fingers flying across the canvas with a passion that took everyone's breath away. Even with his short, child-like fingers he was able to reach every key like they jumped out at him, begging to be used. In the background he could hear the small record being slid across, creating a slightly urban feel to his work, but he ignored it, ears picking up the small violins that enhanced the high notes that he was tempting, the bass drum thundering low and steady in the rear of the climb up the sharp notes.

He could hear the way that everyone was mystified, their faces awed and shocked at how he was utilizing every single key and not leaving anything out of his piece. Why would he neglect it though? Why would he neglect such a wonderful, beautiful object that made the yelling in his head subside? Of course he was grateful, and he was willing to give as much as he could back.

It was hard to play though; the music in his head was not what he was playing. It was something a bit edgier, a bit more sporadic and painful. It would be something he'd play alone where his father couldn't hear because he knew he'd be mocked for what was thundering around him. What he couldn't escape.

One song blended into another, and then another. He kept no track of time, and he didn't bother with their applause. He just played, his eyes intent on the instrument as he let his fingers fly and he let his inhibitions go.

And the audience couldn't get enough.

It was a blur to Roxas; the clapping the shouting, the flowers on stage and the calls for more. What was this to him? What was it to him if the stage was covered with the scent of flowers or with the stench of dust? Did it matter if they all stood and watched or left without a second glance? Roxas couldn't understand how they could drink in the music and make such a racket that chased away the beauty that he'd just given.

His heart didn't glow with their love; it grew cold.

And then he was off the stage, a whirlwind of the music of shouting, running, wind whistling through the crowded hallway of panic as the stage was set for Charlotte Church to sing. Roxas thought that Charlotte Church was a lovely girl; soft, delicate, and had the voice of an angel. She was a child prodigy with singing, her tones pure and innocent. As he was guided down the hall he saw her standing outside of her dressing room, her lovely face twisted with nerves.

"You did wonderful, Roxas." She said when she spied him. Roxas nodded, a little uncaring if she thought he did wonderful or not. Charlotte Church had a tone that made the music in his heart swell, but he didn't care about her other than that.

"I hope you do wonderful, too." He said softly, looking up at her. Even if she was a child prodigy, she was nothing like him, he thought. Her family supported her but did not push her, and she had a wonderful tutor and singing teacher. Though Roxas wouldn't admit it, he was envious of the twelve year old girl who could smile and make people swoon. She was allowed to use her music for her own happiness, and it showed.

"I'll see you at your graduation tomorrow so I can tell you how it went, ok?" She smiled brightly at him, but Roxas was disinterested once she mentioned the graduation. Roxas didn't care if he graduated or not because the school was easy and the work made him bored and sleepy. He grew frustrated with the teachers because they taught him and taught him, but in the end he always surprised them by being better than they were because he listened to the music that no one else could hear.

Roxas was ushered to his room where he changed quickly and was given his small laptop back that had a computer program for him to make music. Even though the program was hard to understand, once he figured out what keys to press it was like having a small electronic piano on his lap. Weaving through the musical crowds he was ushered outside by Yuna, his father already in the limo and waiting because he didn't have to perform for the audience like Roxas had to. Roxas knew he'd be on the phone, working something out with someone about his CD's or his upcoming performance in Halloween Town and then the one in Traverse Town. Those places always baffled him because they weren't really towns; they were countries. Why call it a town if it was a country? It was confusing to think about, so Roxas pushed it away. There were better things to think about. Like how after his graduation he would have much more time to work on his music, much to his joy and worry.

The carpet is thick and red, just like the other carpets. The chains holding the crowd back are a golden metal and they clink loudly against Roxas's ears as the people smile and flash pictures at him. He does not smile back at all of them, his eyes fixated on the limo in front of him. His heart does not glow under their love, and he mentally wishes them away. The more of them that love him, the less his father loves him.

As he reaches the door though, someone reaches out and takes his hand, stopping his movements as he slowly turns around to see who touched him. The boy holding his hand is pale like he is, but instead of somber and quiet he has the happiest green eyes that Roxas has ever seen, and his red hair is messily spiked without a care in the world. His smile is wide and inviting, a pure and wholesome smile that suddenly breaks through Roxas's cold shell and hits his empty heart, making the glow flood him and cause him to gasp silently as he realizes who it is.

It's the boy from his first ever performance.

His other hand is suddenly occupied with something long, thin, and hard with a blooming, velvet soft top, and it hits him again that this boy is holding his hand and giving him a rose. He is holding his hand, the same hand that he once held, and he is pressing a rose into the other hand, just like last time. His fingers shake and he hesitantly puts the rose to his lips, the velvet texture just as he remembers it as it glides over his own fair skin.

"I think you did amazing tonight." The boy says with that same happy, wide smile. Roxas's eyes are wide and surprised as the boy spoke, and it hits him somehow that the boy doesn't know that he remembers him, and that he suddenly wants to tell him he remembers because the glowing in his heart is filling up with the boy's smile.

"Y-you… you did?" He asked softly instead, his face breaking past the stony mask.

"Yes… I loved it. It was amazing; just like the CD, but at the same time it's not the CD… you made it different at the same time. It was awesome." The yells and outside noises faded away as Roxas couldn't help but zero in on the pale faced, beaming boy that seemed so happy to hear his music that it wasn't the same as the people who applauded because this one took the time to hold his hand and give him a rose.

"I… remember you." Roxas whispered to him, his baby blue eyes filled with wonder. The music swirling around him became light and soft, caressing the air between them and making something spark to life, something that made Roxas feel drawn to him, drawn to the boy who he'd only met twice now. The boy's eyebrow rose a little and his smile became something a little slyer.

"You do? Man, the last time I got to see your concert was… two years ago? I went to see your dad with my mom. You remember that?" The boy laughed and his laugh was soft, making small bells fill along the high piano notes that played along the swell of a violin in Roxas's ears.

"Yes, yes, I remember you." Roxas can't help but repeat, surprise filtering through him. He'd almost forgotten the boy that made him feel so alive, but suddenly the feeling is back, gently, tenderly sweeping over him and pushing the troubles of his life away. Roxas almost forgets that his father was in the limo with Yuna, waiting, and Roxas almost forgets that he's about to graduate, top of his class but all alone because no one will talk to him.

"Wow… I didn't think you'd remember me! I'm twelve now… I've performed for some people too, but nothing this big. It was my teacher's students that did a few songs. I'm better at violin though, so that's what I'm going to stick with." He was rambling slightly, excitement shining in his intoxicating green eyes as he does so, and Roxas liked it. He liked how the boy was still holding his hand, so warm and full of life that Roxas could cry.

And then the peace shatters.

"Whoa now kid, step back, ok? I'm not allowed to let you past there!" Reno is suddenly pulling Roxas back and away from the boy, his face beaming as he did so. Motioning for Roxas to get into the car, Reno turns to the boy and then jumps back, surprised. "Man… you look like me when I was your age." The boy rolls his eyes at that but laughs all the same and then waves good bye to Roxas, his grin keeping the warmth strong and alive in Roxas's heart as he waves back and manages a small smile, something he hadn't been able to do in what felt like forever.

The door slams and the silence ricochets around the limo with a vengeance. Roxas doesn't mind though because as he turns he looks out of the window to see the boy with the hair of fire scuffing his payless shoe on the ground as he stares after the car with a beaming smile on his face.

And as Roxas feels an answering smile on his lips, he presses the rose to his mouth to hide it so that no one will steal it away and sell it like they do to his music.

* * *

The graduation was long. Roxas wore his black, Angora three piece suit with a silk green and silver tie to show the school colors, and he sat next to the headmaster of the school to watch as everyone's names were called and they all stood up for their degrees in certain forms of music. Roxas didn't mind sitting next to the headmaster because that meant that he didn't have to sit next to his classmates. Roxas didn't like his classmates because they ignored him a lot and when they did pay attention to him it was to say stupid things to him, thinking they were being funny. Though he was eight years old, he was no fool.

"Are you excited, young Mr. Strife?" The headmaster asked in his kind, gravelly voice. Roxas turns to look at him with his grave, grave eyes, and he nods slowly, finding it better to agree than to disagree and have to explain himself.

"And what will you do once this is all over with?" He questions quietly, speaking from the side of his mouth so that no one but Roxas heard him.

"I have a symphony to practice with a whole orchestra." Roxas informs him gravely, staring off of the stage where his father sits next to his mother and his bodyguards. Reno flashes him a thumbs up, and Rude blinks up at him and then around the room to ensure his safety.

"You're going to be a conductor for the next performance?" The headmaster is incredulous, and Roxas nods along slowly at his words.

"I cannot play all of the music at once." He states it like it is the most obvious thing. Behind his parents, Charlotte Church is sitting with her group of people, her smiling, angelic face peering up at Roxas like he was an angel as well. Beside her, a soft, delicate girl sat with glass eyes and white blonde hair, her innocent disposition grave and studious, like Roxas's. He figures that if she can hear the music like he can, she could be his friend. He would like to have friends.

Except for the red head boy, Roxas didn't really have friends.

When it's time for him to play, Roxas plays the violin, a surprise for everyone since the program said he'd play the piano. He doesn't care though because suddenly he hears the music loud and clear, a beautifully tuned violin the solo in his heart. As he plays it he sees tears in the headmaster's eyes and in the eyes of Charlotte Church and her delicate friend. It is a solemn song that pulls on his heart, but he doesn't care because for once the music is still in his head when he's finished, and everyone stands and claps for him with smiling faces. Even his classmates clap, their eyes filled with wonder at the boy who never brags but obviously played so much better than they.

When he receives his degree he holds it for a moment before he makes his way to his father and hands it to him, unsure with what to do. It's just a piece of paper; was it really that important? But his father apparently thought so as he took it and nodded curtly, putting a hand on his son's shoulder as he passed the paper to his lawyer and stood up to shake hands with the people who came to congratulate him.

"Roxas, good job. You played wonderfully!" Charlotte Church was suddenly there by his side and she's smiling, speaking in that voice that hosts a thousand angels. The quiet, innocent girl is by her side, a small white dress making her pale skin stand out all the more as she shyly looked at him and then looked away.

"Thank you, Charlotte." Roxas managed to say, a little annoyed that even though her voice was so pure, her words were the same as everyone else's.

"I didn't expect you to play so nicely on violin like you play on the piano, but that was beautiful! Did you learn it here?" Charlotte motioned around the area, probably talking about the academy, and Roxas nodded slowly.

"How was your singing last night?" He asked to be polite. Charlotte beamed and covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

"I almost messed up on one of the sharps, but I covered it up nicely I thought. It was so much fun to see all of those people! You really got them excited for me!" She laughed again, a care free laugh that made his stomach roil nastily.

"That's wonderful." He forced himself to say.

"Oh, Roxas, this is Naminé. She's my best friend since forever! Naminé, this is Roxas, but you've heard all about him." Charlotte Church nudged the girl forward and the girl blushed again, nervous and shy.

"Hello." She says with quiet words, her breath a whisper on the air. Roxas could barely hear it, like a shimmering chime that began a small song in his ears about serenity.

"It's nice to meet you." He says, and then he grabbed her hand and kissed it lightly like he'd seen his father do with women. Naminé blushed even more and then looked at the ground. Before she could say anything again with her pure and innocent voice, Reno and Rude were suddenly nudging him towards the limo and the girls were waving goodbye, their nice, kind faces making Roxas sick to look at. They were happy, and he felt sick.

It was his graduation, not theirs. Why was he so sad?

As he got into the limo and was set between Reno and Rude, Roxas looked over where his mother and father sat. His mother was sullen, glaring out of the window in a stunning dress that she'd designed herself. His father was talking to his lawyer on the other side, quiet and cold.

"Hello, mom." Roxas heard himself say. The music cradled his heart as his mother fixed him with a steady stare and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't look so depressed, Roxas. You just graduated without having to learn a damn thing." She pulled out her PDA and then looked at her assistant who was on the phone, talking about the fashion schedules and when the plane was going to land. "But I did come for your graduation, so everything's ok, right?"

Roxas didn't bother to correct her.

As they reached the air strip for the jets, everyone scrambled out to go their separate ways. As Roxas went to follow his dad, he was stopped as his mother put her hand on his head and ran her fingers through his hair softly like she used to when she was still married and still cared about him and his father.

"If he gets to be too much to handle you can always take your bodyguards and go to one of the summer homes I have, ok darling?" She informed him, tousling his hair before she put her glasses on and then took a left towards her jet, her assistant trailing behind.

Roxas made his way onto the other jet where his father and lawyer were busy talking, his degree tucked safely away in a briefcase to put on the wall in the main house when they got back. Heading to the back of the jet he fell onto the small bed, the music holding him as shivers wracked his body and tears welled up in his eyes. He could hear Reno and Rude stepping into the back to stay with him, but he didn't give a damn about them. He didn't care about how they were always there for him, guarding him while everyone else just watched and applauded him. He didn't care that they understood that he was smart for his age and treated him like he was human and not some miracle child. He didn't give a damn about the graduation, and he didn't give a damn about the upcoming performance.

Roxas felt alone and cold, and he couldn't find it in himself to care. All he knew was that it hurt, and it hurt more than the music ever hurt him. Why did he have to leave school? Why did he have to play his music for everyone? Why did he have to be alone so much? What was so special about being alone? What was so special about him?

"At least his mom showed up." He heard Reno say to Rude.

"If you could call her being here for a moment showing up." Rude replied in his low, calm tones.

"Didn't seem to cheer Roxas up." Reno stated, and his voice was sad.

"Would it have cheered you up?"

"… No… it probably made it worse."

Roxas didn't know a lot of cuss words. He just knew the ones his father said, and as he bit his lip he went through the list of words he knew. Roxas didn't know many words, and he hardly knew any that would describe how hollow he felt. All he could think was damn, and it felt good to think it. Damn. Damn his father. Damn his bodyguards who pitied him. Damn them all for feeling for him but not allowing him to feel in turn. Damn them all.

As he choked on his breathing and cried into his pillow he heard a violin ringing in his ears. He imagined that it was the red headed boy with hair like fire playing, his smile bright and warm as he slid the refined horse hair down the steel strings and soothed the ragged holes in Roxas's heart. It was a soft, pure sound that kept time with the whirring of the engines as his music slowly and gently brought him sleep, and with that, peace.

* * *

_Hit or miss? Let me know in a review!_

_So, I know that Charlotte Church isn't a child anymore, but for the sake of this chapter, she's young, ok? Also, Tifa is OOC but she's not a major character, so please don't impail me!!_

_Anywho, one of the chapter songs you can find on you tube... it's not a recorded album song though... it's the piano battle song._

_NOTICE: For every review, Roxas and Axel get closer to meeting in very... er, fun ways :3_


	3. Bach JS: Toccata

_:D Thanks for the reviews everyone! If I missed responding, I'm sorry! School and ROTC has been really busy... _

_Just update Tantalize, so I thought I'd try to finish this one up too! _

_Anywho, this is definitely out here... bear with me, please! I'm sorry this took a month... it was difficult to find the write chapter idea... I changed it 4 times..._

_Reviews of any kind are always loved and appreciated!_

_Chapter Songs: B__ach (JS): Toccata & Fugue in D Minor_

_Enjoy! :D_

* * *

Lights flashed, shadows fled, and voices poured over one another like an all consuming tidal wave. The paparazzi and news reporters crowded together like cockroaches on the steps of _The Clock Tower_, a prestigious hotel in Twilight Town where Roxas Strife and his father were currently staying for the month. The news was hot, fresh from actual occurrence, and everyone wanted their hands on it. Roxas Strife, world renowned musician had finally snapped in the middle of his concert, his rage tangible as he had gripped his violin in both hands and smashed it cruelly over the piano next to him. The cold, icy youth had finally given the paparazzi something to work with, and they were stealing it away, fast. Their excitement was palpable and so thick that you could cut it with a knife, a feat that Mr. Strife was close to attempting. Their shouting crashed into him and left him mentally gasping, his podium the only thing that was separating him from their monstrous gluttony.

"Mr. Strife, after the episode last night at the concert, how can you be sure that your son will cooperate with business now?" A voice called out from the right, and he turned in that general direction.

"He's still a boy; he's learning the way of the business as he learns how to work with the crowd and find who he is deep down. Mistakes happen!"

"Do you agree that you're pushing him too hard?"

"I've not pushed him to breaking if that's what you're trying to insinuate."

"Sir, Mr. Strife, over here! Is it true that after the concert he had a mental breakdown in the dressing room and broke the mirror?" A voice to the left, and the camera flashes startled him as he turned.

"I don't know where you got that information, but it is false."

"Then how do you account for the broken mirror shards from his dressing room?"

"Accidents happen with cheap concert hall material."

"So you agree to the mental breakdown, but not the mirror breaking?" Another voice, much deeper and far more greedier.

"What are you trying to suggest?"

"Is it true that Roxas Strife had a mental breakdown after the concert?"

"What makes you think that he had a mental breakdown?"

"Mr. Strife, question! Is it true that your family has a private doctor?" Turning back to the far left, Cloud glowered.

"I wouldn't trust my health to a public one."

"Why was he summoned to the Strife Penthouse Apartments early this morning if it wasn't to do with Roxas Strife's mental breakdown?"

"I believe the term for men like you would be stalker… or else you wouldn't know of his arrival at the Strife residence." There was a ripple of laughter from the far more successful journalists as the one who'd questioned him flushed angrily.

"Regardless, Mr. Strife… why summon him if nothing was wrong?"

"I have a slight cold." More laughter and the lights flashed faster.

"Sir, over here! How will his strange actions during the concert last night affect his upcoming performance tonight?"

"It won't affect him in the slightest… it was an off day."

"Mr. Strife, why would your son stop mid-song and break the violin? It doesn't seem like just an off day…" The only woman in the crowd spoke up, her eyes sparkling deviously.

"As if you haven't had a bad day in your entire life." He spat.

"Sir, where is Roxas Strife now?"

"Upstairs, resting in peace."

"You make him sound like he is dead." A veteran news editor grinned, flashing pearly white teeth.

"The way you all prey on him like vultures, he might as well be."

"Are you confirming his mental breakdown and giving a cause to it?"

"You all are under a severe misconception; my son did not have a mental breakdown. He was merely frustrated and acted out in a way that any strong minded youth would. If he was not famous it would have simply been brushed off, but you all want to make it something it is not."

"Would your son hearing music have any effect on him being able to function like a normal human being?"

"Define normal for me, if you would."

"Not hearing music in the air, Mr. Strife." More laughter, and Cloud felt his blood boil.

"My son is a gifted youth and because of it you are trying to say that he is crazy."

"What is gifted to you, Mr. Strife?" A cocky journalist questioned and he stepped up a little to be better seen.

"Gifted is something you'll never be able to comprehend while working in a field like this."

"Sir, does your son have any comments on the matter?" A man raised his hand in the back.

"He is regretful that the concert was cut short."

"Has he been tested for anything?" There was a soft silence as everyone leaned in for his answer.

"There is nothing to test, I assure you." Their voices suddenly rushed up and over him, deafening him as the lights flashed brighter and their bodies pushed together, rising up like a tide to wash over him.

"Mr. Strife over here-"

"Sir, another que-"

"Over here!"

"One more wor-"

"Is it true tha-"

"Can you reveal if-"

Leon suddenly appeared at his side, his hair disheveled and his tie askew as he lightly grabbed hold of his client's arm and discreetly shook his head. Cloud fixed him with an icy glare, but Leon's perfectly placed smile didn't waver.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," He said calmly, false friendliness in his tone. "No further questions."

The press went wild.

* * *

"Cloud, you can't do things like that." Leon dragged his fingers through his messy brunette hair and frowned as they sat in the small office of the penthouse that they were currently staying in. Cloud adjusted his tie and turned away from the window he'd been glaring out of, fixing his icy stare on his lawyer and old friend.

"They're ruining business with their nosy questions. And where the hell have you been? I had to talk to them by myself." He snapped.

"My apologies… stuck in traffic after the flight in from The Hundred Acre Wood. I wasn't aware that you would attempt to speak to them or I'd have stopped you sooner." Leon smirked as Cloud glowered. "I wasn't aware that you missed me."

"I didn't miss you, but you know I hate dealing with them."

"As your lawyer I advise you to ignore them altogether. You make a mess for me whenever you open that mouth of yours."

"They make a mess for me with their publications and nonsense. It's ruining my business."

"You're ruining business. Your performance down there will cost you and Roxas bad publicity for months." Leon retorted as he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a black rolled cigarette. Cloud watched him with barely concealed annoyance and disgust, but his lawyer ignored the look and lit the offensive object with a flick of his lighter.

"It's not my fault; you weren't there to speak and they were troublesome. And you shouldn't smoke; it's disgusting."

"It's better to ignore them then give into their antics… now I'll have to do damage control… and smoking helps me work with the drama you unfold for me." Grinning blithely Leon stood up and sauntered across the room, easing over to where Cloud was standing, his smile becoming a smirk as Cloud waved the smoke away from his face.

"I've unfolded no drama." Cloud scoffed, clearly affronted with the idea. Breathing in deeply Leon scratched the scar across his nose and shook his head slowly, gazing out of the window.

"You unfold drama everywhere you go, Cloud. You're not personable." Laughing, Leon loosened his tie and undid the first couple of buttons to his suit in an effort to relax. "You go to a clean, peaceful town and leave it in shambles, make me waste a week cleaning up."

"I do not know how to deal with people… I feel nothing for them." Cloud shook his head sharply.

"Hell, the only thing you have feelings for is music."

"Is that envy I hear?" Cloud's lip twitched up in cold amusement.

"Could be. I manage your affairs, keep track of your money, save you from the press… save your business from yourself… it's a busy schedule." Leon let a trail of smoke sift through his lips as he cocked his hip out and continued watching the traffic trailing on the streets below, successfully avoiding Cloud's gaze.

"… I don't… mean to give you the impression that I don't care." He sounded awkward, uncomfortable. Leon laughed softly under his breath and tapped the stress-reliever against the windowpane lightly, shrugging.

"I don't think you know how not to." He replied in the same fake polite tone. Cloud jerked away from the window and stared at him with burning eyes, lips pursed and temper rising, but Leon didn't acknowledge his anger. He continued watching the street with his ash gray eyes, breathing in the smoke like it was oxygen.

"You don't know… I… I do care…" He cleared his throat and looked away, staring down at the streets below. "I do not know how to… show how I feel very well unless I'm playing music." Turning away from the window Cloud made his way over to the arm chairs and slumped into one, rubbing his eyes with a fist.

"I am aware of that."

"It is unbecoming of a Strife to be overly emotional." Cloud continued gruffly, half trying to explain to Leon and half to himself.

"Hmm…" Another breath of smoke filled the room.

"We have to be men… we have to take what we're good at and hold it for what it's worth."

"I see…"

"And I am good at music. Nothing else." Leon turned back to regard Cloud for a moment as he said that, and raising an eyebrow he sauntered over to his client, standing back behind the chair. Leaning over it he gently eased the tie from its stranglehold and unbuttoned a couple of the buttons so that his friend could breathe with ease, ignoring the way that Cloud shifted awkwardly as he did so, probably not used to people touching him after a week or so of not seeing him. He held the cigarette loosely in his lips as he sucked in the nicotine and gently began to rub Cloud's shoulders in an effort to relax him, movements sensual and smooth, harsh but soothing, an action that made Cloud's breath hitch. Leon ignored that as well though, not wanting to upset the slight upper hand he'd gained.

"So tense for so early in the morning." Leon chided him smoothly, his lips against Leon's ear, voice low and husky.

"There is a time for relaxation and this is not it." Cloud's words didn't fit his voice however, the tone a little softer and a little slurred in relief at the chance to breathe for a moment.

"As your lawyer, I advise you to rest. Take some time from your music. Take some time to listen to another tune in your heart for once." Chuckling, Leon skillfully twisted the cigarette to the side of his mouth as he pressed a soft kiss against Cloud's neck. "Keep listening to what's going on in your head and I'll be up to my ass in paperwork."

"I have too much to worry about. My son has been slipping up lately with his music… he has not been working as hard as he should." Cloud's voice tightened at the mention of his son and Leon grimaced inwardly. His son… got into the way of too many things.

"That's a part of your business, no? Let me handle it." Sliding a hand up against Cloud's pulse he felt the tempo of his heart beat and smiled a little to himself. Though Cloud gave nothing away, his heart was a bit too fast for normal.

Cloud slowly turned his head, twisting until he was merely inches away from Leon's face. His eyes were like ice chips, cold and ruthless, but that was how Leon liked him to be; he was a cold and ruthless man after all. That was why they worked so well together, after all. Leaning in slowly, Cloud's lips parted as he carefully moved his mouth around the cigarette caught between Leon's lips and bit down gently, causing Leon's heart to pick up its pace against his will, half of him excited to see Cloud moving in so close to him. Cautiously he pulled back, dragging the cigarette away from its owner and claiming it for himself, eyes locked with Leon's the entire time, burning icily. Plucking the object from his lips he calmly pressed the bud of it against the leather couch and flicked it into the ash tray, turning away from Leon as if nothing had happened.

"I hate it when you smoke."

* * *

Roxas is 13.

By this time he has hit platinum on his records, and he is considered the world's most well renowned musician of his time. He has worked with a small, part time orchestra that played the music he made and brought tears to the audience's eyes. He has worked with famous pop stars and rappers, playing background tunes for their mindless cheesy rhymes and rhythms. He has been on talk shows and has been offered scholarships to other institutes and colleges that were eager to see what he could do with their students. He has tutored other people that were willing to pay thousands just to have him help their children succeed. He has been followed, photocopied, facebook'd, myspace'd, fanfiction'd, and he was considered the upcoming Disney Channel star though his father would never allow it. He has grown to think business.

He has grown to hate the world.

Roxas walked down the hallway of the penthouse slowly, his fingers dragging along the wall carelessly, causing a soft murmur of wooden chimes to fill the air with his movements. He was in Underworld, a small but well known country just south of The Coliseum in Greece. The next night he had a performance with his father's orchestra where he'd play the sole violin in the orchestra in order to show that his talent stood out even in a crowd. Were those his father's exact words? No. But Roxas had learned to read the words underneath the spoken dialogue that his father and his lawyer used.

Roxas was supposed to be resting. Since his small mishap in Twilight Town during his concert, his father had him resting and relaxing as much as possible, cutting down each practice that he had for two hour segments instead of three. He'd said that it wasn't safe to push Roxas; that it was up to him to make sure that his son didn't mess things up and that he'd make sure that Roxas was alright. If Roxas was younger, he would have relished in the feeling of his father's attention, but now it was just stifling and fake like smooth pearls.

"So what?" He questioned himself as he miserably tapped his fingers against the wall and turned the corner. So what if he had a mishap? So what if he broke a violin over the piano? It wasn't his fault… he'd just lost control. It was just a mistake, a small mistake… but everyone was treating it like he'd committed murder.

To the public, he had.

The press was ripping him apart, tossing things like, "insane," or, "unstable," up in the air with craftily twisted "quotes" that his father had given them. The one time his father had done the talking with the press and the lawyer hadn't, the press had had a field day and turned everything against them. Leave it to his father to mess things up. They'd turned him into a nut case just as fast as they'd once praised him, turning their back the moment he'd shown weakness.

If the music didn't make him go insane, their cruelty would.

"So stupid…" He muttered to himself, slapping the wall in anger but instantly regretting it as the flutes pierced the air around him in response to his anger. The music was a lot tenser than usual, quick to jump to action the moment Roxas showed any signs of distress. It was maddening since it was the music's fault he'd snapped, throwing his beautiful instrument against an every greater piece of magic. He hadn't been able to help it, his heart had been thudding, banging against his rib cage with such a ferocity that he'd felt like screaming in frustration, and he'd just reacted with the first thing that had come to mind.

How was it his fault?

Roxas didn't like feeling like he was going to snap. He didn't like feeling like he was a loose cannon, his words falling from his lips unbidden and his mind not his own. He was disjointed and not right with the music. If he wasn't right with the music, what could he be right with?

He felt out of control, and Roxas couldn't afford to be. He wasn't supposed to let the music get to him like that, but it was hard to focus on reality with something in his head turning him in the opposite direction. Roxas couldn't seem to stay in one place anymore, his thoughts rushing from one thing to another and his temperament hard to keep under control like it used to. He felt sick, twisted, and deranged, and the music responded in turn, twisting the rope tighter around his neck.

He wanted to scream.

Reaching the small room in the back, Roxas stepped in and observed the way that the instruments had been arranged, the piano and violin set more towards the door for easier reach than the others. As if that was all he knew how to play. Brushing past the two mostly played tools Roxas grabbed the cello carefully, easing the larger woodwind towards the small windowsill so that he could sit and play, the bow sliding along the strings with a low, grating noise that cut through the music like a knife.

He played, the chaos rushing through his mind and pushing against his temples, something that made him wince and try to fight through it like he used to. It was difficult though, like it had been for the past few months. It was getting harder and harder to focus on the music, harder and harder to focus on reality…

When had it become so difficult?

"And how are you feeling today, Roxas?" Roxas jerked away from the cello, dragging the bow along the b string and causing a sharp, sickening shriek to issue from the belly of the instrument. Wincing at how the notes in his mind twisted at the sound, Roxas blinked past the haze and saw his doctor watching him warily, his somber appearance blending in with the music in the air.

"I'm quite alright." Roxas lied, warily leaning over his cello as if to protect it from the onslaught of his doctor's words. He was aware that his posture wasn't correct and he was aware that if his father saw him, he'd be disgusted, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"How is the music today?" Dr. Zexion Ienzo stepped father into the room and motioned for Roxas to play, his arms folded neatly in front of him, polite and distanced. Inwardly sighing, Roxas closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, letting the music crowd his mind as his hands sprang to the cello unbidden and played.

The music sprang forth from the cello, sharp and angry, bitter resentment clashing against mournful sirens as he played, fingers flying down the neck and bow grating against the steel strings with such intensity that it was both frightening and painful to watch. The raw hunger and fury danced along the senses as Roxas found his blood boiling, the music surrounding him and pressing in, demanding more, screaming for him as he played, wrenching his fingers along the handle, pressing the tips harsher against the strings, racing through his heart as he fought to listen, his mind twisting against the onslaught.

He didn't last long.

A silent gasp passed his lips as the instrument fell, the bow sliding from his fingers and silently clattering against the thick carpet, the cello banging against the windowsill and jarring his thoughts as a silent scream passed his lips. His heart clenched tightly, his mind whirling as his muscles locked and shaking spasms rushed along his spine. Pure fury and fire danced along his very veins and he struggled to breathe, the action causing a dizziness to impair his vision, and the room spun with the notes that rushed through the air, screaming his name.

The pain didn't last long; just enough for Dr. Ienzo to cross the room slowly and pick up the cello with great care and set it back on its rest. As he calmly straightened up and surveyed Roxas with narrowed eyes Roxas had managed to blink past the dizziness and breathe normally, though his heart was still pounding roughly against his ribcage.

"The attacks come quicker the more you try to play what's in your head." The doctor noted, and Roxas nodded slowly, hand pressed to his chest to keep the pain from bowling him over.

"I want it to stop." Roxas informed him quietly.

"Roxas I have to look into this with a more in depth angle; I have had no case like this in my field of work, so I cannot give you something to stop it until I know how to stop it." The doctor's voice was patient but dull, a toneless reassurance that make the anger boil around them.

"I don't have time for that." Roxas snapped, standing up with a hand still pressed to his chest. "I have a concert, and if anything happens like the last one…" His voice trailed off and he gave Zexion a very pointed look.

"I am aware of the repercussions, and I am trying to do research as we travel. It is difficult to utilize resources when I don't have the proper time to study further into your… condition." The music shifted uncomfortably at that, and Roxas voiced the music's concern.

"It's not a disease." He stated firmly, but there was hesitance in his voice that made it seem more like a question. Dr. Ienzo surveyed him with one visible eye, his usual cool indifference dropping slightly at the teenager's discouragement.

"No, it is not a disease. There could be many reasons as to why the music is reacting the way it is… my theory? You need rest, Roxas. You are pushing yourself too hard, and you are being pushed too hard. Sooner or later, the pressure will build and not even I can say what the consequences will be." Putting a hand on his shoulder the doctor leaned down and stared Roxas dead in the eyes, slate gray clashing with light blue. "You have a rare gift, young man. It is simply… malfunctioning. You do have it harder than most, your life ruled by the whims of things that you hear, but so far you have been able to keep it under control. Until now it has seemed like a miracle… and to keep it from becoming a monstrosity I will try my hardest to find a cure. All it takes is patience, and understanding.

"You are one of the rare few that have the ability to succeed beyond your wildest dreams, or fail and end up far lower than you could imagine. It is imperative that you let yourself rest enough, or it will be your downfall. You do not have the luxury of time, and you do not have the luxury of a patient father. The only thing you have, really, is your music." Roxas flinched at those words and jerked away from Zexion's touch, turning to stare out of the window, the light silhouetting him in fiery orange glow that was almost ethereal.

"You do not need to remind me." He replied miserably, touching trembling fingers against the cold glass. "I am well aware that my glass is half empty."

* * *

Underworld was abuzz as the many eager citizens poured into the performance hall to see the ever vague and mysterious Roxas Strife play after his weeks of solitude and refusal to speak to anyone. The press was jam packed into the back, film men up front with their equipment and news reporters ready to get the latest scoop on the enigmatic adolescent. One boy walked down the carpeted walkway, trailing confidently after his mother as they took their second row seats, center stage so that they could be ready the moment the prodigy took his place on stage.

"Do you think he'll be alright this time?" The boy asked as he tugged his fingers through his thick hair. Ever since he'd turned ten his hair had stopped cooperating, deciding to stick out in every which way like a porcupine would, and he hated it. Attempting to flatten his vibrant red hair, he turned to regard his mother for a moment before she shrugged and flattened his hair with a heavy hand.

"I don't know, dear. You should be glad we even came to this though; if your grades hadn't come up in time…"

"I know, I know… I'll keep them up this time. Violin practice just took up a lot of time though and-"

"There's more to life than that violin of yours." His mother said exasperatedly. As the lights dimmed and the stage lights grew brighter, Axel leaned in expectantly and his eyes lit up brightly.

"Yeah, there is," He agreed without taking his eyes off of the stage. "But I've yet to find it."

* * *

As Roxas stepped onto the stage, his heart was in his throat. For some reason, he felt oddly nervous, and the music around him jumped awkwardly and edgily like something was wrong, warning him. What were they warning him away from though? Away from the concert? It wasn't like he could leave; the stage was set and the lights were flashed in his direction, applause echoing all around and consuming him. A lone violin sat on a beautifully carved piano, beckoning him temptingly and hoping he'd take the bait and play. Taking a hold of the violin he felt the music jump in worried anticipation, but he pushed it away with a stern glare. He could feel his father pressing down on him, and the desire to succeed crushed all pain and reduced it to dust. He couldn't afford to fail.

Still, it didn't push away the worried cry in the cello's voice that resonated in his ears.

Gripping the bow tightly in his right hand Roxas brought the violin up underneath his chin and stared down the beautifully crafted masterpiece with a reverent stare. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath, waiting on the edge of the abyss that he could feel beckoning him with sly words and whispers of success, his face alight and ready. Unknown to him, millions of pictures were being taken, whispers of failure were being spoken, and newspapers were writing away about his chance of falling over the edge. Unknown to him, an idol with red hair watched with avid, beautiful, green eyes while he unconsciously held his mother's hand tightly. Unknown to him, the world held its breath and waited for him to play.

Letting out a slow breath, he slid the bow sharply across the steel and let the magic burst forth.

The lights faded; the noise of the camera men filming and the audience's cheers were reduced to nothing as he played. The only thing that existed to Roxas was the violin; the hand carved ebony wood that sang forth with a siren's call, tempting him to play more, to rely on the music that kept ringing in his ears along with what he played. Suddenly, the fear of failure didn't matter anymore; the fear of his father's wrath was meaningless. The idea of so many people being hooked to his music meant nothing because Roxas could feel the music surrounding him, caressing him softly.

But he could also feel its danger.

Like before with the cello and the concert that spelled out disaster, Roxas could feel the uncontrollable danger that made his heart ache and his hands tremble. He could feel the out of control swirling tempest that made his emotions rage violently. The pain that came with it was teetering back and forth, making him pick up the pace of his violin, wanting the concert to be over but knowing that he still had at least a half hour before it was deemed ok to leave and find peace.

_Please, please just let me get through this; please just let me get through this unharmed…_ he pleaded silently with himself, begging the music to keep him safe, to stay in its calm and beautiful tone instead of the breathy, ragged tune that was beginning to sound forth, the noise that pressed against his very being, gaining power with every stroke of the violin.

Everything began to blur around him as he played, his breathing irregular and slightly erratic. The noise in his head was beginning to grow, a pressure that built and built with a slow and steady pace, echoing and beginning to clang around his head loudly. Wincing he continued to play, fighting against the ringing in his ears and his lack of vision.

How he got through the concert, no one knew. The crowd listened to the rise and fall of his music with awe struck looks on their faces and worry in their hearts as the mournful siren crawled through their veins and awakened the agony buried deep within them. Tears pricked their eyes and their breathing was as irregular as the notes that weaved through the air, his hands working magic against the strings, panic and fear falling from him like actual objects. It was as if they were seeing the true inner turmoil in him, and uneasily the audience gave each other weak glances of alarm when he finally finished his performance and bowed, eyes glazed with something that struck fear in their hearts.

His legs shook; his hands trembled with anxiety. Sweat dotted his forehead as Roxas blinked unseeingly into the vast crowd and bowed, muscles screaming and violently spasming as he stood up and let out a pain filled breath. He was ok… he was finished. Acid raced through his veins, and he wiped the sweat from his face, worry setting into the back of his mind when he found that he still couldn't see very well. What was going on…? He could hardly breathe the pain was holding him so tightly…

Numbly he sat down his violin and made his way to the back stage, his steps echoing loudly and painfully against his ears. He would be ok soon… he just had to make it off stage… just had to make it to the safety of closed doors… had to keep the pain hidden… away… from... everyone… everyone that knew… him…

He made behind the curtains before he collapsed.

* * *

"And in other news, music writing child prodigy Roxas Strife was rumored to have been hospitalized in the early morning after another episode that has left him bed ridden for about a week. Our blessings go out to him this night, and the one question in everyone's mind on the matter is this: just what is causing the episodes? Is it really his father's pressure? Is there a sickness? The Strife family on either side refuses to give answers, and his mother is reported to have verbally assaulted someone who continued to question her about it. And don't forget to stock up on cold medicine! Flu season is on the way…"

* * *

"What the hell happened to my son?"

"Mr. Strife, we're not entirely sure… I'm doing my best with the instruments I have…"

"And what have you found out? Do tell; your job is at stake."

"Sir, it's stress. He's too pressured to be perfect, and it's probably weighting down on him."

"And in your vast knowledge and doctor's degrees… that is all you have to say?"

"I mean, there could be other reasons…"

"Such as…?"

"Well, he could be a schizophrenic: irritability, hallucinations, lack of emotion, fits… the list could go on."

"So my son is insane?"

"In my professional opinion… yes."

"And what the hell do you propose I do about my son being a lunatic?"

"I can prescribe him Olanzapine… it treats those symptoms and will help him function better."

"Then do it. If this gets out that he's insane…"

"With all due respect, it's already out, sir."

"… You'd better have a damn good explanation for that."

"Can you tell me the difference between genius and insanity?"

"…"

"Success rate, Mr. Strife, success rate."

* * *

_Hit or miss! Let me know in a review! _

_Yes... I'm making him seem like a bit of a crazy guy... it has a purpose though! _

_And CLeon is here... in a twisted way :D_

_Anywho, the next chapter is already halfway done, so review quickly so I'll post quickly! Your support is what keeps me going!_

_:)_


	4. Enchantment

_So... don't hate me, please? _

_I didn't mean for this to take so long to update..._

_But like I said at the beginning of Tantalize... things have been a little rough... so I couldn't write much for awhile... _

_Sorry!_

_Your reviews and a few different events helped me a lot to update though :)_

_Thanks for that!_

_You guys are amazing!_

_Sorry for the mistake with the cello notes... I'm violin and piano! I'll learn this stuff before spouting it off so as not to mess with anyone!!_

_I even stayed up until 1:03 in the morning!! I'm in Idaho with family, snuck away to update... it's cold, snowy, and crazy! But still..._

_MERRY CHRISTMAS!!_

_Here's my present to you... an update (finally!)_

_Chapter Song: Enchantment_

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

He wasn't supposed to be outside.

He was supposed to be inside the hotel, fast asleep with the covers tucked in tightly around him as Reno and Rude patrolled the penthouse to keep him safe, but he wasn't. He was supposed to be mentally preparing for the concert that he had in less than twenty four hours to be ready for, but he wasn't doing that, either. In fact, he was doing the exact opposite of what he was supposed to be doing, his feet pressing him farther and farther away from the hotel with each worried breath he took, eyes intent on the ground and hands stuffed into his pockets to keep warm.

White flurries of snow swirled silently through the air and clung to one another, covering the ground with a soft, cold blanket that stood out against the midnight blue sky and created a muffled orchestra of innocent, tinkling bells. White, fiery stars burned beautifully in the sky and lit up the darkened gift shops of Neverland, a country two stars to the right of England and straight on towards the morning sunrise. It created a picture perfect scene, the ideal place and time to take pictures with lovers and pose underneath street lamps to share kisses.

Roxas sighed and watched the empty street pass beneath his feet, his custom made leather shoes hardly making a sound in the freshly fallen snow, his breath buffeting from his lips in short puffs of white smoke. He felt like he was straight out of a story book, the cookie cutter houses and shops all coated in a powdered frost with twinkling lights. It was a serene, happy place to be. No matter how calm and peaceful the area around him was however; he couldn't stop the anxiety from running through his veins.

He was almost out.

His fingers grasped the bottle of pills tightly, his heart thudding erratically in his chest when he shook the small canister and he heard the lone pill click around the plastic holder. Shaking his head he turned the corner of the street and listened to the hushed music floating along with the air and trying to console him, trying to lull him into a sense of security.

Roxas is seventeen.

By now he has travelled to every country in the world, promoting his music and showing the world his talent. He has been the special guest for talk shows, charity events, sponsorships, and even has opened a foster care home. Despite the growing years, he has not lost popularity, and, if anything, has gained even more of it. The musical industry adored him for his gentle disposition and his fans loved him for his small, perfectly placed smiles and innocent music. They loved how his music stayed original and how he continued to hear music, despite the rumors that flooded the press that he was a drug addict and was consumed by his doctor's prescriptions to keep him under control. It was said that he was a slave to the medicine that kept him sane.

Shaking the medicine bottle, Roxas had to agree.

Breathing the cold air in as deeply as he could, Roxas closed his eyes and envisioned himself away from everything, away from the press, the pressure, his father, and the lifestyle he lived. He imagined himself as far away as he could, half expecting himself to open his eyes and be there. After all, the world was at his fingertips; why couldn't his deepest desires be there too?

If only things truly worked that way.

It wasn't that he was a slave to the medicine per say… it was more like he depended on them to keep his head clear. It was because of the medicine that Zexion gave him that he was able to function as a normal human being and still hear the music. It kept his mood swings under control and kept him from having random attacks like he used to whenever he played. _There are a couple of downfalls to this_, he reminded himself like he always did.

One of those downfalls? Roxas couldn't really feel anything anymore.

The music reacted to his emotions, he'd come to find out. And because of that… he would get hurt from it. Zexion figured that the only way to fix that would be to take away the thing that triggered his mental instability.

Thus, Roxas couldn't feel.

And yet… he could. The most powerful of emotions remained behind, but in a much subtler form, something easy to handle and easy to take care of. Anger became annoyance and fear became worry. The music wasn't as concerned for his well being, and he wasn't hurt by it anymore.

Rounding another corner, Roxas felt pain as he collided right into someone.

_Bam!_

Stumbling back and holding his head tenderly Roxas's eyes watered and he blearily looked up to see who he'd run into. Of course… it was just his luck to run into someone when he wasn't supposed to be seen.

The person was tall (about six feet 2 inches) and bundled up in a thick, black wool coat that covered all but his face and above, a black and grey scarf wrapped carelessly around his neck. He looked thin despite the large coat, and as he rubbed his chest area gently it occurred to Roxas that he should know this man. There was something oddly familiar about him though Roxas's logic told him that he'd never seen him before in his life.

He had a shock of scarlet red hair that stuck everywhere in random spikes, and a long, thin face. Underneath both eyes a strange set of tattoos that looked oddly like upside down tear drops contrasted against his pale, clear skin. What was most surprising though were the eyes; eyes that seemed to shock the medicine right out of Roxas's system as his heart began to pound and the music jumped in strange delight the way it hadn't done in a very, very long time. If Roxas had to admit to anything, it would be that his heart hadn't jumped like that, ever.

Pure green eyes looked right through him.

"Hey, are you ok…? I didn't mean to-oh… shit." The guy's eyes widened as he realized just who he'd run into, and leaning in towards Roxas he flashed a genuinely concerned look.

"I… am sorry. I didn't mean to run into you; I wasn't looking where I was going." Stiffly leaning away, Roxas hated how the music was beginning to run through his head like a whirlwind, strange delight creeping into the tone and making his muscles tense warily. His heart jumped and a strange warmth was rushing through him, taking away the bitter chill the night air had pressed against his skin.

"No, it's ok, I wasn't looking where I was going either… it's one of those nights, yeah?" The red head laughed, a low and even laugh that seemed to actually sound happy, and it warmed him the way his coat never could. Roxas nodded gravely and stepped back as a soft and gentle wind blew the small snowflakes into his face. Peering up at the tall and broad shouldered man Roxas was alarmed as the man suddenly took on an awed and surprised look.

"Say… you're Roxas Strife, aren't you?" He questioned brightly, making annoyance spark. Of course, the stranger would know who he was and what he did. He couldn't just run into someone who didn't know him, now could he?

"Yes… I am." He agreed. And here was the part he always hated. Here was the part where he'd ask for an autograph or suddenly pull out a camera from _God_ knows where and ask for a candid photo. The music twisted at that but as he looked into the unsettling, beautiful green eyes the harmony lightened everything and his heart calmed a little, much to his surprise.

Since when had he felt… so calm?

"And you've got that concert tomorrow…?" The guy tilted his head inquisitively.

"If you're going to ask for tickets, I cannot help you; I'm not allowed to just hand things out on a whim like-" The man cut him off by laughing, the low rich sound covering him and making him feel a little stupid, which made him a little annoyed since how was it fair that he should make Roxas feel like an idiot? A low, soft violin eased in over his slightly raw nerves and lulled his heart into a strange glowing feel.

"I wasn't going to ask you for a ticket… I already have one! I haven't been to a concert of yours in years… I'm a musician myself and when I graduated from the music academy I decided that I would treat myself to some real talent., so I took a plane here." The red head grinned wryly and pulled a ticket out of him pocket to show Roxas. He had long, tapered fingers with calloused tips from working the strings of an instrument, his grip calm on the small piece of paper that he held tightly, confidently.

"You play the violin." Roxas blurted without thinking, the words falling from his lips unbidden and startling the both of them. The red head pocketed the ticket and ran his fingers through his thick hair, a hand jammed into his pocket from the cold.

"Yeah… how'd you know?" He laughed lightly but there was something in his eyes that made the warmth grow even more, making Roxas take a step back he was so startled and so surprised. The music hummed in delight at the man's laugh and a soft violin soared above the basic melody, weaving around and caressing the solemn cello that descended over the low notes.

"I… I didn't… it- your fingers…" Why was he stuttering so much? Roxas shook his head and averted his gaze from the piercing green stare and watched the snow bunch around them playfully, white and clean and pure. A flute acknowledged the beauty there, and Roxas smiled softly at it without thinking.

"Well, you're right… I've been taking lessons for as long as I can remember." The guy scratched his head again and looked around awkwardly before raising an eyebrow. "Hey… do you want to get something hot to drink? There's a really good coffee shop nearby, and it's pretty cold out here… we could walk around the park if you want." Roxas's head jerked up at that, eyes narrowed at the proposition, but he didn't feel any bad intent from the man. A smooth clarinet wove its way through the woodwinds that had broken away from the brass instruments, coinciding with a viola in a way that was actually pretty instead of awkward.

"I don't… I'm not sure… I don't want people-" God, why was he stuttering so much? It couldn't be that he thought the man was beautiful (as if such a thing was possible) or that he seemed charming and-God forbid-_happy_. What was it that made him stutter? The main raised an eyebrow at his abrupt cut off in speech and an easy grin came over his face.

"Hey, it's cool, we don't have to… you're probably sneaking out after all, yeah?" Roxas's jaw dropped at that, surprise causing a pause in the music, the awkward silence suffocating for a second before a light flute picked up with the wind.

"I- how did you- when did-"

"Easy, easy… I just didn't see bodyguards around…" The man set a steady, strong hand on Roxas's shoulder and leaned in a little closer, inspecting him. His eyes narrowed on concern, and the drums lit in low in warning. "Are you ok?" He asked curiously, worry creasing his brows. Roxas pulled away slowly, a hand in his pocket as he gripped the medicine bottle tightly. Was he ok? The piano sang softly and warned him that he wasn't.

_Just hold out for the concert… hold out the last for the concert_, he told himself, trying to will the emotions to remain at bay for at least one more day. One solid, 24 hours.

"I am fine. I just don't want lots of people to see me… you're right when you say I'm not supposed to be seen." Avoiding the worries, frowning look that the stranger was tossing his way, Roxas gripped the pill bottle tightly and blinked past the flurries around his head. "If you'll excuse me…"

"Now hold on just a second… I can't let you just walk away like that." The man ran a hand through his thick, vibrant hair and a violin cut through his words. Affronted, Roxas raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, annoyance setting in.

"And why not?" He questioned coolly, the words rolling off of his tongue like he'd heard his father say so many times. It was a question that wasn't really a question. It was a statement as firm as the notes striking against the drum pulsating in his veins. It was something that said, "_you can't stop me_." It was more like a statement saying, "_You're wasting your time."_

The man shuffled from foot to foot and exhaled softly, an easy grin coming over his face.

"I mean, no one deserves to be alone on Christmas Eve." The words froze in the air, as cold and cruel as the snow that froze Roxas's cheeks and sent the music into a frenzy, the flutes breaking off, the piano creating disarray as the notes slammed against the higher, piercing bridges and the low, threatening bassoon. The music swirled and twisted sickeningly at that, and Roxas felt his heart beat increase, the tempo making the music scream in his ears.

One look at the red headed man before him, and the music stopped entirely.

"You… what…?" He asked hollowly. His words echoed in the otherwise silence that he was so unused to, a silence that shook him to the core. The red head, unknowing of this, shrugged and leaned in a little more, eyebrows creased slightly at Roxas's reaction.

"No one should be alone on Christmas Eve." He repeated slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. The music broke through at that, and a low, even violin began surrounding them, locking in each and every inch of Roxas to the strange, new boy that seemed so calm and so at peace that it made his heart ache.

His lips parted, and a hoarse, soft voice spoke.

"Stay with me?" He asked. The snow picked up around them, and the violin began playing a little stronger, warming the ache in Roxas's heart as the boy's grin grew and he nodded.

"Of course." He said, and turning a little he gestured towards the park up ahead that was decorated in lights. "Want to walk there?" He suggested. Roxas, hardly daring himself to speak, nodded.

The music stayed low and even in his ears as they walked through the snow, blinking past the innocent flurries and nodding against the wind. The man didn't pressure him to speak, and Roxas didn't attempt conversation. Why should he? The music kept up the words for them.

As they passed a coffee shop though, the man stopped Roxas and hurried inside without a word, returning moments later with two cups of something sharp and sweet, an easy smile winning over his face as he handed one cup to Roxas.

"Thought we could use something warm." He said by way of explanation.

"Very thoughtful." Roxas allowed himself to speak as he breathed in the smell of vanilla and peppermint coffee. The violin lazily acknowledged his kindness and warmed the light feeling in Roxas's heart with something a little stronger. What was this feeling inside of him that seemed to grow? It was alien, surreal.

It somehow scared him to feel it.

"Axel." The man suddenly spoke, his calm, easy voice as soothing as the violin Roxas heard playing.

"Beg your pardon?" Roxas replied as he took a sip of the hot coffee and felt it warm him to the bones. The man shrugged in his large coat and gripped his cup a little tightly.

"My name… it's Axel. I'd spell it, but I think you'll have it memorized in no time." The man, _Axel_, he'd said, kept one hand stuffed into the pocket of his jacket like he was cold, but his face betrayed nothing but content happiness.

"I'd have it… memorized?"

"Well, I know you're name… but you didn't know mine. Thought I'd even the playing field a little." As they stopped at a crosswalk Axel winked lazily at Roxas's slightly confused expression. The violin turned a little playful at that, bouncing along the notes and somehow taking the edge from Roxas's confusion.

"Something wrong?" Axel questioned. Gripping the Styrofoam cup tightly Roxas felt his frown deepen.

"Why are you… alone on Christmas Eve?" He questioned slowly, not wanting to sound rude. A soft piano played along his words and in response the violin softened its tones, hinting the seriousness of its master's words. Axel didn't seem offended by the question though; his eyes merely lost some of their light, a soft, sad smile taking over his mouth. As the crosswalk sign lit green and the stepped off, he scuffed his shoes along the ground.

"I've got no one left, I guess." He replied softly, the smile still on his face.

"I am… sorry." Roxas replied lamely. They reached the small park as the stepped onto the sidewalk and the lights from the many trees around them illuminated their faces.

"It's nothing." Axel finally responded, but the tone of his voice didn't match the smile on his face. "Mom passed away last year; never really had a dad… no siblings… you kind of get used to it." There was silence between them, save for the sound of the piano and the violin softening their footfalls on the snow. Could Axel hear the music? Could he hear it with the clarity that Roxas could? Could he feel it in his very bones, the way that it surrounded them, let them breathe?

"What about you?" Axel asked, breaking through the music. "Why were you alone for Christmas Eve?" Roxas frowned at that, breathing in the scent of the coffee and listening intently to the music. Did he want to say the truth? Did he want to give away information like that so readily?

"There is no one who matters to me." He blurted out without thinking, and a with a soft gasp he held a hand to his mouth, shock echoing in the music as it pulled away from the glowing feeling in his heart and played up his shock. Had he really just said that? Had he really just told a secret to a complete stranger? He could feel his cheeks turning red at the mere thought, and a soft lute teased him for his stupidity.

Instead of an awkward silence though, Axel let a soft, husky chuckle tell Roxas that it was alright, and that he wouldn't say a word.

"Not even your parents?" Axel questioned kindly, making Roxas shake his head slowly, his cheeks still red and his eyes suddenly intent on the ground. He refused to look at Axel, refused to look a complete stranger in the eyes and show that he'd told the truth.

"No… Mother is in Agrabah for the winter fashion festival; father is concerned for the concert." He said hollowly, mechanically. A soft cello comforted the raw pain he felt at those words. He pushed it violently aside though, not wanting to feel the raw pain, not wanting to _feel_, at all.

To feel, meant to hurt.

It meant he was one step closer to giving in and taking his medicine.

One step closer to insanity.

"Does it get lonely, out on the road?" Axel interrupted his bleak, dark thoughts with a twist of a violin string and a sultry, tempting tone as harmony. The violin spoke for him, weaving his words into a melody that seemed to try to pull the darkness from his heart and keep him far, far away from it. It was unsettling, but Roxas didn't mind. It was bringing the glowing back to his heart, and it was making him feel a little more alive.

A little more sane.

"Sometimes… I want people. But people don't matter… I have my music." The piano stroked along his nerves and comforted him, holding him close as an affirmative. Glancing over at Axel he saw the man deep in thought, his sharp, startling green eyes looking intensely at the ground. What was he thinking? What was he going to say? The violin kept time with his breathing, even and slow, lulling Roxas in with the notes alone.

"Your music is all you need?" Axel questioned softly, and his eyes looked shiny, fake and glass-like, almost that of a china doll. There was heartbreak in his question, like he knew the feeling of music against his soul, and it made Roxas speak. His words were greedy, his violin wasn't demanding. He was a musician, through and through.

"My music is all that I've got." Roxas replied, his voice hoarse.

"Even on Christmas Eve…" The man said wistfully. Roxas took another sip of his coffee, the peppermint chasing away the tightness in his throat.

"No… tonight I've got you too." Roxas corrected him. Axel laughed, his lips turning up and making the violin sing for him, his calloused fingertips gripping the coffee cup tightly, confidently.

"Very true. But you can hear the violin, can't you? You didn't come with me for my company. You came for the music." His husky laughter drowned out the gasp that Roxas made in surprise, the breath rushing from him in a soft, powerful, _whoosh_.

"You… can hear it too?" He breathed, turning to face Axel with wide eyes. His free hand groped for Axel's arm, and his lips trembled in fear, anxiety, hope, and longing. The piano twisted around him, teasing him and hoping with him too. Did he hear it, too? Did Axel hear the way that the music bent and twisted his emotions deeper than anything anyone could hope to? Did he truly hear the way that the music became so strong and powerful that it rushed about him and became a part of him, setting his very veins ablaze?

Did he feel the pain? Did he feel the longing?

"Rarely… very rarely. Nothing close to yours." Axel shook his head, but his smile remained intact, the pain evident even through that. "Nothing to make me seem anything in comparison to you. Nothing so painful." His smile was sad, and the violin caressed it, sending shivers up Roxas's spine as his heart fell.

He truly was alone.

They walked in silence, the music pressing in on them, the coffee cooling in the cold, snowy air.

"Your music… is painful sometimes. Do you mean for it to be?" Axel finally asked, his lips turning up into an attempt at a smile as he looked over at Roxas. Roxas frowned and felt the wind nip at his face, trying to draw him away, but instead he looked Axel dead on, eyes watering on their own accord.

"I don't mean for anything to be as it is. The music shows me what it wants, and I try to give it back in full." Axel made a strange noise in the back of his throat at that, but Roxas couldn't stop speaking, even though the piano warned him to stop.

"Pain, hunger, anger… happiness… it is all the same to the music… it all means that there's something left to give." He felt a short, cold laugh tear from his lips, but he ignored it. There was something in the way that those green eyes held him that made him want to speak. The violin built around his words, warming him to the bone, and his heart leapt strangely in his chest.

"There's something left to give? To the people, or to you?" Axel asked quietly, green eyes sparkling in the moonlight, making the violin do strange things in the air around them.

"It means…there's something left to teach me. As long as the music plays… I've got something left to live for." The violin built and built against his ears, hurtful and loving at the same time, and tearing his gaze away from Axel, Roxas forced himself to take a drink from the scalding coffee, to reorient himself back on earth because looking into those green eyes so full of that warmth made him feel like he was floating.

And feeling was dangerous.

"Wow…" Axel breathed beside him. That's all he said. There was no pity, there was no awe. There was the strange tone, a violin pressing against a piano, and then silence. The snow fell around them, suffocating and beautiful at the same time, and nearby a clock struck quarter to twelve. Without saying a word they began to head towards Roxas's hotel, penthouse suite, quietly listening to the music around them, watching the picture perfect scene and noticing how fake it was from real life.

How Roxas would have made it alone, he didn't know.

When they reached the hotel, they paused at the door, not entirely sure exactly what to do. Axel was frowning, his face twisted between amused and upset, and his coffee cup hung in his hand, limp and empty.

"Thank you, Roxas Strife." Axel finally spoke, his green eyes burning brilliantly in the moonlight. Confused, Roxas looked up and frowned, his cup still half full of the sweet vanilla and peppermint.

"For what?" He asked breathlessly, the depressive weight still digging into his shoulders. The idea of being alone when hope had tasted so sweet… his fingers itched for the pill bottle, and the violin solemnly enclosed him.

"For not leaving me alone on Christmas Eve." He replied easily.

"No one deserves to be alone on Christmas Eve." Roxas found himself saying. He almost regretted it, but when he saw the man's lips pull into a smile and a slow, lazy wink give a small sparkle to his face, the piano thrummed and told him he'd said the right thing. Nearby, the bell tolled twelve rings, and a small firework was launched into the air, signaling the change of the hour, and that it was Christmas.

"So right you are. Well then… Mr. Roxas Strife…" Axel leaned forward, his face shrouded by shadows as the violin suddenly picked up a deeper tone and the piano held out its notes right against the warm feeling in Roxas's heart. He felt his eyes closing, and he felt the heat from the older, larger man pressing in on him, tempting him and making the music draw him even closer, burning his skin with its melody.

"A very, Merry Christmas to you." He heard the man whisper, voice caressing the violin strings. As Roxas opened his mouth to respond, he felt a soft, warm pair of lips caress his for the slightest of moments before the heat withdrew, and Roxas's eyes flew open to see-

Mistletoe hanging over his head.

* * *

_Hit or miss? Let me know in a review! :)_

_I'll keep this short... sorry the chapter was short... but I didn't want to force too much..._

_Don't hate me so much that you can't review though... I really wanna see your reaction!_

_Once again, Merry Christmas, and if I don't update... HAPPY NEW YEAR, TOO!_


	5. The Storm

_:) You guys are amazing!_

_Thank you all for your reviews! They're all wonderful, and I love hearing from you guys!_

_I'm sorry if I didn't respond directly to your review... I've been busy with AP classes, but this Monday through Friday I have school break, so I can take a breath and chill for a week, thank goodness!_

_:D And yes... that was my favorite chapter._

_But... this one is good too, I think. At least, I like it._

_So, as always, leave a review and let me know!!_

_You know you're wonderful :)_

_Chapter Songs: The Storm, Danny Boy (Harp)_

_Enjoy! :)_

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"Well… what else do I enjoy besides my instrument? I enjoy long walks on the beach, and every now and then I enjoy candlelit dinners."

"Yes… thank you for your time. We'll call you if there's an opening for bassoon." Leon replied politely, his cold eyes the only thing giving his disgust away freely.

"Do you know when you'll have it figured out?" The man asked, clearly hopeful and curious. Leon frowned and glanced over at the youth next to him, annoyed to see the boy clearly zoning out and hardly paying attention to the conversation going on.

"We'll have to go through each paper and look through the names… it might take a few weeks." Leon replied diplomatically. He cleared his throat and glanced over at Roxas, surreptitiously nudging him underneath the table to signal that he should say something. Looking away from the music dancing along the bassoon in the man's hands, Roxas forced himself to meet slightly hopeful eyes, the solemn notes surrounding him sounding better than the man's petty attempts at playing.

"If you worry too much about how we think you'll play, you lose the effect of the song. Just play... don't think." Roxas stated softly, looking away the moment that the man's face began to fall. It was obvious to him that the boy wasn't impressed, at all.

"Oh… right, yeah… I get it. Thanks, Mr. Strife." The guys sadly gathered up his instrument, the case, and his sheet music before he slowly walked out. Roxas hardly paid him any mind though, his eyes following the page before him and the next person that he'd have to interview and listen to. It was annoying and sad to do, in his opinion, because these people weren't trying to work for the love of music; they were just trying to get a job.

Roxas is eighteen.

By now he is a living legend. He has sold over 25 albums of music, each one going to platinum record and each one loved and adored by many. No two songs were the same, and no two albums could be said to mimic one another. He was an inspiration to the many musicians that wanted to make it big, and he was an icon to those who didn't think that they could succeed. By this time he has grown old enough to realize that his life wasn't like others and that _he_ wasn't like others. By this time he has moved on from the hope of being cured, and he has moved on from the idea of not being alone. After a full year of loneliness he was realizing quite quickly that he truly _was_ alone, and that no one, not even a kind hearted redhead, could truly keep him from feeling that way. Traveling with people who were out for his success, not his music was beginning to take its toll on him and it was beginning to wear down on him.

But he couldn't stop.

Stopping meant failure. Failure wasn't an option in his father's eyes.

Roxas Strife was at the age that his father deemed acceptable to begin running his own orchestra. Now, he could create symphonies that he could conduct, and run people who he wished. It was a birthday present of sorts, saying that there would be a little more freedom in his music, a little more of a chance to branch out. Now, he could not only write his own music, but he could begin to think business with pay, work hours, programs, and sponsors for his personal orchestra.

Roxas really didn't like this birthday present, of sorts.

There was no love in these musicians' hearts for music, not in the way that Roxas wanted it to be. They wanted to be able to say they worked underneath a prodigy, a boy who made music better than Beethoven. They didn't want to reach the music and they didn't care about feeling it the way it was meant to be. Glancing over at his "partner" in the interviews, Roxas frowned at the way that Leon was glaring at him.

"What?" He asked despite the fact he really didn't care what his father's lawyer thought of him. He couldn't stand the way that the man always seemed to have something against him, like he'd somehow offended him without even trying.

"You need to be a bit more personable with them if you're going to work with them." Leon snapped, shuffling his papers and nodding towards the man at the door to bring the next person in. Shrugging against the annoyance settling onto his shoulders, Roxas decided to ignore his comment and instead tried to push away the small headache building against his temples. It had been too long since he'd last played his music, and he needed to get the melody out of his head, and fast. If he didn't- Roxas shook his head. It was best not to think about that. Reaching into his suit pocket, he held the medicine bottle tightly in one hand, debating. He really wanted to take a pill and calm down, but should he? He was given enough to last the month, a pill a day, but sometimes he'd take two, three, or sometimes four to ease the pain building against him. Once again, he was almost out, and still had 10 more days until a refill was legally acceptable.

As the harmony made his teeth clench together, Roxas decided that he'd just have to suffer for the last few days. He grabbed his medicine bottle and pulled out a pill, dry swallowing it and ignoring the disapproving glance Leon gave him.

"Must you do that?" Leon asked irritably. Roxas hardly looked over at him as he willed the effects of the medicine to take over him and numb the music for a little while. It was beginning to become a bit too painful to listen to, a bit too painful to focus on while he was stuck in the middle of the interview room.

"If you'd like me to be a bit more personable… then yes, I must." He replied evenly as the doors opened and another person came in, their dark hair and strange appearance slightly surprising. She wore an unusual, black and grey dress with chains, fur, and buckles adoring it in an almost comical way if not for the dark, piercing stare her gold eyes had. Her hair was pulled up into an intricate bun save for bangs that hid some of her pale, ashen face and purple lips. Roxas looked her over for a second before he heard a solemn, dark cello breaking through the slowly fading music. The medicine was starting to kick in, thankfully, and he could feel the blessed indifference that would keep the pain at bay until he could get to an instrument of his own and play the sorrow away. Thank God for Zexion's fast acting drugs.

"Name, and instrument?" Leon asked in his politically acceptable voice he used when meeting new people. It was a slick, smooth voice that could reel people in, a voice that could seal deals and win court battles.

Roxas hated it.

"Cello." Roxas said in bored tones, leaning back in his chair to ease the tension in his back somewhat. Leon glanced disgustedly in his direction, but Roxas ignored it as he heard the music playing. As the strange, scary looking woman walked into the center of the room with knee high, black leather boots, she turned and fixed him with a raised eyebrow and interested eyes.

"Lulu, cello." She deadpanned back, voice emotionless, refusing to give away her actual interest. Roxas could hear it in the cello though, that she was slightly amused and interested that he knew that. Leon gave him an annoyed glance, but Roxas merely smirked back in reply. It wasn't anything big that he could hear the cello surrounding her like a cloak, but it really made his day sometimes to rile Leon up. The man really brought the worst out of him.

"How old are you?" The standard questions always came first.

"Twenty three."

"Do you have a personal piece to play?" Leon asked in a faux curious tone. The girl named Lulu nodded slowly before she opened the instrument case and then began pulling out her cello and bow, eyes intent and shining on the instrument in front of her with something verging interest. Roxas kept his gaze on her as she quickly and meticulously prepped the instrument, and he felt a slight tugging on the notes in the air as she swept her gaze up to meet his.

"I wrote this about a year ago." She said in that smooth, annoyed tone. Her eyebrow was raised as Roxas didn't bother to hide his blatant stare, but with a quirk of her lips she shrugged. Settling down onto the chair that had been provided by the workers there she maneuvered herself around the instrument, giving Roxas one last glance that made the notes glide along the air between them hauntingly.

"You can begin when you feel-"

She didn't wait for him to finish.

The magic had already begun.

And Roxas was immediately transfixed.

Her head dropped down the moment the bow hit the strings, eyes closing humbly as nimble, long fingers slid along the neck of the instrument. Her breathing was smooth and long, keeping everything steady and even as she played. With wide eyes, Roxas stared as a sudden twist in the music stopped the notes mid-string in his ears and then began to mold around the song that she was playing, building it up and crashing it down around him like a strong and fast riptide. Rarely, so very rarely, Roxas would be able to take something that someone else had made and find that it was malleable, changeable, stunning and clear, a musical piece that was what music should be. It was moveable, breatheable, something so tangible that he was almost sure that he could touch it if he wanted.

It was beautiful.

He couldn't say how long she played. He couldn't say how many times she almost slipped or how many times that her eyelashes fluttered emotionally against her cheeks as she slid her fingers up and down the strings and created a tone that shook the very core of the music in his head. All he could say was that when it ended, he felt spent, like it was him playing the instrument, like it was him that had played such a pretty song.

The girl, Lulu, looked up slowly when she finished, and her intriguing eyes immediately snapped to Roxas, the stare in them penetrating. There was a knowing glint in her eyes, a knowing glint that told her that he knew what she was feeling, that he had heard what she had meant to play, and that he had approved wholeheartedly, though he hadn't said so. The music had probably told her, betrayed his feelings, and whispered the truth against her ears.

He made sure to keep his face politely bored and emotionless.

Leon shifted in his seat at the end of her song, breaking the spell with his disgusting movements, and the chair squeaked. Lulu didn't even look away from Roxas as he spoke.

"Is there anything else that you enjoy apart from your musical career?" He asked blandly. He wasn't as impressed as Roxas, wasn't impressed by the way that the music was still playing along in the air, teasing Roxas and taunting him with a melody all of its own. Lulu shrugged and looked away from Roxas to pack her cello away quickly and carefully.

"Music is my passion; what else is there?" She responded in the same emotionless voice that she'd first spoken with. She finished packing up, and then turned to face Roxas who couldn't tear his eyes away from the way that though she seemed emotionless and dead to the world, her hands had reverently caressed the instrument as she put it away.

"Yes… thank you for your time. We'll call you if there's an opening for cello." Leon said to her in a businesslike tone. It was obvious that he didn't want to call her, and that he found her lacking what he wanted. Lulu nodded slowly at that, eyes fixed back on Roxas, waiting for him to speak. Clearing his throat softly, Roxas leaned forward onto his elbows without thinking.

"And… can you… make music like that often?" He asked, keeping his tone light. He wanted to know, _needed _to know because the hope within him was burning, attempting to rip him apart that someone had been able to make music that reached him and touched his music, _taunted_ his music and played with it, molding it to something new…

"That took a month of nothing but hard work, but yes." Lulu replied, deadpan.

Oh.

His words dried up in his throat, a small noise issuing from his lips. Of course. Why did he always have to ask? Whenever he heard something absolutely wonderful, he had to ruin it for himself and ask, almost _beg_ to understand where they'd found it because something within him pleaded to know, nearly fell to its hands and knees to find out if they'd found it the way he found it, to see if they could touch the music the way he could, fingers stroking the notes…

"Oh." Roxas just barely managed to say past heavy lips. He fell back against the comfy part of his chair, mildly disappointed. He couldn't be too upset though; it wasn't like there was enough hope within him to really push his spirits up. Roxas could never say why he did it to himself, but he did almost every single time. He dared himself to hope, and that was stupid. There was no way he'd really find someone who could truly understand.

There was no one in the world like him, and he knew it.

Lulu seemed to understand his sudden change in attitude. Giving a slight tilt of the head she nodded slowly to them before she left, and the room descended into silence.

Roxas numbly reached into his pocket to pull out another pill from the bottle.

He didn't feel like listening to the music, for the moment.

* * *

The days past. Roxas wasn't even sure how many days it had been since they'd started, but the line never seemed to want to end. He listened as people played music, attempted to show the devotion that he had with his life. They attempted jokes, attempted flattery, attempted to wheedle their way into his life like he actually would allow them to, and it was all in vain. It only succeeded in giving him headaches that would last the night as he attempted to sleep and chase away the haunting melodies that demanded he play.

Leon was insufferable.

"I'm telling you, this one has promise." Leon pointed to the paper where the profile of a man with slanted, gold eyes stared predatorily up at him. Roxas shook his head and sighed softly.

"He doesn't hear anything but the notes on the page." Roxas replied tiredly.

"You want someone like that. He'll listen and do exactly as you say. He has higher sights, but wants to start small. You're his ticket to the big dogs, and he's your ticket to becoming a big dog." Leon attempted to sound convincing, but his odd hatred of Roxas and everything that he was made him sound irritable and grouchy. Leaning back in the chair he'd sat in for weeks almost, Roxas shook his head.

"I want someone to search for the music beneath the black lines and designs."

They shifted through more papers and Roxas found the next man that would play. His eyes scanned through the summary of him, and Leon read the copy of the profile beside him with quick, sweeping motions of his ash gray eyes.

"Who put these together?" Roxas asked softly.

"Zexion helped me assemble some of the profiles."

"I like this one." Roxas replied, pointing at one paper emphatically. Leon gave him a skeptical, annoyed glance, but Roxas didn't look up at him. He didn't want to see the disdain show on the man's face for the people that he generally approved of. Whenever he liked someone, Leon found something about them that made them unable to hire.

_Name: _Demyx Ashwood

_Age: 21_

_Instrument_: Sitar, guitar, violin, cello, harp, percussion

_Bio: _Demyx Ashwood is a graduate of Kingdom Key University of Music and Art, his talents ranging from theater to chorus and music. Has a family of nine and each one is musically gifted in some way. Demyx stayed in marching band, jazz band, and show band throughout high school where he earned a scholarship to K.K.U.M.A after graduation of his high school. He attended from age of 18 to age of 20 where he graduated with an associate's degree in music and music theory and then began working with other musicians in Amber Hall. Very energetic and enthusiastic with work, Demyx was a well liked and respected musician. In the previous year however, Demyx was checked into The Clow, a mental institute under the diagnosis of hallucinations in the form of music. Demyx Ashwood claimed that he could quite literally see the music notes floating in the air as he played, and would often stop to stare at it. Under the work of Dr. Ienzo, Demyx was able to make a medicated recovery and was released three months ago. In societal terms, he is sane and able to function in day to day life. His musical talent was unaffected. He listens and follows directions very well, but requires some encouragement.

"The psychopath?" Leon snapped incredulously.

"He's nothing of the sort." Roxas replied, suddenly feeling the need to be defensive of the man that had caught his interest so suddenly. The words blurred before him on the page, taunting him with their jaunty, hopeful letters.

_See the music notes… as he played…_

If that wasn't hope, Roxas didn't know what was.

"I'm not going to let you hire some psychopathic nut to come and work for you; that sort of thing will get you in trouble in the business world." Leon chided him. Roxas set the paper down slowly and gave Leon a leveled stare, his cold eyes taking him in for the monster that he was.

"You haven't even heard him play." Roxas hissed angrily. "I bet you he's better than the rest of them together. I bet you because of what he sees, he can create things that your man-" He jabbed the profile of the predatory man, pushing it from the table, "will _never_ be able to fathom. You look down on him, think you're better, when he's probably seen more than you'll _ever_ see, and he'll accomplish more than you can ever hope to know."

His hands were trembling, he was so angry, and he felt sparks of music dancing along his veins. A thick, bass drum hummed in his ears, egging him on, begging for more, begging for him to act, to destroy the man that was attempting to take away his hope. Leon stared back at him, grey, dead eyes watching him, but the usual sense of anger was gone. Instead, it looked like pity was in his eyes, but only for the moment.

"Bring him in." Leon ordered quietly, looking away.

Roxas felt his heart throbbing furiously, and a numb part of him was whispering against his ear like a snake, egging on his anger, but when the door opened and a boy near his age walked in slowly, the anger fled entirely.

It was him.

It was the boy that made him hope.

He seemed odd, at first glance. He was tall and lanky, and skinnier than what Roxas had assumed he would be. The picture had given him a fuller appearance, but maybe the picture was before his time at the insane asylum? He had piercing, sea blue eyes that sought him out and fixed a sure, knowing stare on his face as he walked in and then stood on the floor before him. He walked carefully, his steps cautious as if he'd fall over at any moment. Odd, faux hawk/mullet styled dirty blonde hair stuck up on top of his head, and as if out of habit, he ran his finger through it awkwardly.

It was obvious the moment that he walked in that there was something different about him. The music became a little unsettled at first, its tones and melodies weaving around awkwardly before becoming something a little more presentable, a soothing creation that Roxas knew for a fact that Demyx could hear. His eyes seemed to shine even brighter when the music came out with an actually tangible song.

"Name?" Leon asked in the same tone as before. Roxas had to work to keep his facial expressions calm and neutral as the boy looked at Leon and then looked above their heads like there was something there that was even more fascinating than what they had to say.

"Demyx…" The boy replied in a light, amazed voice. His eyes followed the air above their heads like there was something there, and Roxas could feel that if he looked up, he'd hear the music that Demyx felt that he saw. The flute whistled beautifully above him, and he had to fight to keep himself from giving anything away.

"Age?" Leon didn't sound happy about how Demyx was behaving.

"Twenty one…" Demyx breathed out in response.

"What instrument will you play today, Mr. Ashwood?" Demyx jerked away from his daze as Leon spoke, like Leon had said something particularly offensive.

"I am not Mr. Ashwood. That's my father." He said quite seriously. Roxas had to lean back a little so that no one could see the laughter in his eyes at that.

"Alright then, Demyx…" Leon sounded disgusted, but his words seemed to appease Demyx. A small, dreamy smile took over his face, and he began staring above their heads again.

"I'll play whatever you need me to…" He replied easily. Leon gave Roxas a slightly annoyed look at that, and Roxas leaned up.

"Play the harp." Roxas asked, motioning towards the harp they'd set up for anyone who wanted to use it. Demyx looked over at it for a moment before his eyes grew a fraction wider and his smile became one of delight.

"I love harps." He whispered, walking over to it numbly and settling down slowly, pulling it back against his shoulder and keeping it steady, a surprising feat since he was so slight and the harp was so big. Roxas leaned onto the table, elbows propping him up as he watched, a critical gaze on his face as he waited.

"Ready whenever you are." Leon motioned him on with a wave of his hand. Demyx wasn't even paying attention to him though. His mind seemed to fade from reality, his eyes taking on a wondrous look as he stared at the air above them. Roxas, hardly aware what he was doing, held his breath, waiting.

He could hear the music in the air, spreading like a canvas across the expanse between them, a harp that was sultry and smooth. Could Demyx see it? Could he see the way that it was caressing his skin like a temptress? Roxas felt his lungs burning, but he couldn't open his lips to breathe again. He was waiting. Waiting to see.

Demyx played.

And it was everything he wanted it to be.

It was like Roxas heard it first in his mind, and then in the air. He knew exactly what would be played, how it would sound, the clarity that it would produce… he felt his lungs screaming, and he let out a breath he'd hardly cared that he was holding, icy blue eyes taking in everything like it was going to disappear. Demyx's face remained upwards, breathing in the beauty and then playing it, fingers skillfully stroking the strings like they were silk, charming the magic and then playing it for their ears, and their ears alone.

"Is this guy really-"

"Sh…" Roxas breathed, cutting him off as he leaned in ever more, eyes wide. He didn't care that Leon let out a snort of derision before leaning back in his chair and waiting impatiently. All that mattered, was that hope could be answered.

And boy, it was being answered.

Roxas hardly realized when it was over. He could see vague snatches of Demyx letting out a soft, satisfied breath as he stood up, the music continuing from where the boy had left it. He could hardly see as Demyx smiled and walked back towards them with his eyes wide and wondrous, filled with the same beauty that was still cascading against Roxas's ears. He could hardly hear as Leon said something or other that was probably biting and dry, and he could hardly hear Demyx's dreamy response. All he was aware of was that Demyx turned to him with knowing eyes, and he parted his dry lips to say something, anything.

This… this was hope.

"So you read the music… in the air?" He asked quietly, hating how he was having trouble keeping his voice under control. Demyx nodded dreamily, and smiled.

"And you hear the same thing I see…"

"Yes," Roxas whispered.

"How wonderful…" Demyx smiled and bowed in a strange, out there way, his eyes suddenly fastened to Roxas's face instead of the space above him. "I do hope I get in… the music around you is simply… wonderful." His head tilted a little to the side curiously, Demyx waved slowly before he turned and walked from the room without waiting for Leon to say anything else.

Roxas let out a breath he was hardly aware that he had been holding, and his hands trembled lightly in wonderment. He'd just met… someone like him. Someone that was above the others. Someone that would know him, would _understand _him the way that others didn't.

"You want him in the orchestra." Leon stated in his cold, businesslike tone.

"Yes," Roxas whispered.

"You know, I pity you, sometimes." Roxas jerked around at that, turning to give Leon a level stare as the man shifted through the papers to see who was next.

"I don't see why." Roxas snapped, feeling the bite in his words. He hated how Leon would say offhand things like that, like he was superior, like he was better than the people around him.

"You like him." Leon said easily.

"And that causes you to pity me, why?" A flute hissed sharply at Leon's words, and Roxas felt his hands clench into fists. Leon didn't seem to care that Roxas was angry though; he fixed his ash grey eyes on his client and cleared his throat, lips pursed.

"You want him in the orchestra to make yourself feel a little bit closer to sanity. You find comfort in the fact that you're not the craziest one out there." Leon replied calmly.

"That has nothing to do with it and you know it." Roxas hissed. Leon didn't seem to care that he'd once again riled up his client. He merely shrugged and motioned for the security to let the next person in.

"Insanity likes company, I suppose." Leon informed him blandly.

* * *

"Is this the last person?" Roxas asked tiredly. They'd been scanning people for weeks, and he was worn out. He didn't like listening to people play poorly, and he didn't like listening to people who wanted in for the wrong reasons. Roxas was tired, and his music was beginning to become unbearable with the way it kept correcting everyone's mistakes and trying to make him play it until he felt like his fingers might bleed.

Worst yet, he was out of medicine.

"Yes. This is the last profile. We shouldn't even take him since he put it in last minute, the day after the resumes were due-"

"I don't mind, as long as it's the last one." Roxas replied wearily. His tone was aggravated enough that Leon didn't argue with him, and for that he was a little grateful. He was sure that Leon was just as tired of him as he was of Leon, and it was like an unspoken truce was between them. The faster they worked, they less they had to see of each other. Why it wasn't his father working with him on the orchestra, Roxas would never know, but since he was stuck with Leon, he figured he'd try to make it as easy on himself as possible. Leon had come to that conclusion as well.

"And you already have most of the chairs filled, am I right?" Leon asked, rubbing his face tiredly.

"Most of them, yes. I have to narrow them down to what chair they'll have, and I need to pick one more violinist."

"This says that this man is a violinist and a novice piano player." Leon set the profile down and motioned for the security guard to open the door and let him in, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his water. Shrugging uncaringly, Roxas let his light blue eyes wander around the room before he idly picked up his glass of water and took a sip, eyes on the door.

He then almost spilled his water all over himself as a very familiar man walked into the room.

Not a lot had changed in a year. He was still tall and thin with broad shoulders and pale, ivory skin. His shock of red hair was spiked up and flashed around him like wildfire, and the set of strange tattoos still stood out against his skin sharply. He still walked like he was very much in control but at ease with the world, and his long, elegant fingers gripped a violin case easily. The most familiar thing about him would have to have been his eyes though.

The moment they met his, they set his world ablaze.

The music shuddered to a halt, the notes cutting off like someone had turned the volume off completely. It was like he'd been slapped in the face, the shock registering through him like electricity and leaving him dazed and a little confused.

Could it really be him…?

_Axel… _

"Name?" Leon asked, bored.

"Axel…" Roxas breathed, hardly realizing what he was saying. Leon gave him a slightly annoyed, curious glance at that, but Roxas didn't look back at him. He was too focused on the way that he couldn't look away from the man in front of them.

"Axel Sinclair." The red head said, his eyes locked with Roxas's. The violin was surrounding Roxas, bathing him in that strange, warm glow that spread from his veins to his heart, cloaking him in that tempting, close heat.

"And how old are you?"

"I'm twenty two." He said easily, his calm, low voice husky as he kept his gaze fastened to Roxas's face. He seemed to be drinking him in, and it was almost as if Roxas could feel the cold December air once more as they walked around the park, basking in the pain that they felt in the music. He could almost taste the coffee on his lips as he licked them, hardly registering that they'd gone dry.

He'd found him. He'd found the violinist.

Or rather… the violinist had found him.

"And will you be playing a personal piece or something from another composer?" Leon asked impatiently. He obviously wasn't impressed with what he was seeing, so far.

"It's a personal piece." Axel only broke away from his staring contest with Roxas in order to pull out his violin, his eyes downcast as he carefully pulled out an impeccably made violin, the dark washed coloration showing its antiquity, but the smooth, glossy finish showing how well its master had taken care of it.

"You can begin when you like." Leon informed him tonelessly.

Without responding, Axel placed the violin against his chin and his eyes fluttered closed as he set the bow against the strings and took a deep, even breath.

And then he made magic.

The violin was soft at first, like a hesitance that made all other noise disappear. No music played around Roxas as Axel teased the music from the instrument, his face calm and serene as his arm instinctively arced back and forth in a steady, even rhythm. He didn't seem too hurried, and he didn't seem too slow. It was the perfect cadence, the perfect motions, and the perfect music.

And then, the music erupted.

It crashed around Roxas like a wave, surrounding him and drowning him with its noise as Axel played on and on, unknowing of what he'd just done with his solemn tune, unknowing of the harmonies he'd just created, the melodies that he'd played up as his skilled fingers paid homage to each and every note they could find. It wasn't pain that suffocated Roxas though; it was beauty. An entire orchestra was playing in his head, surrounding the violin and cradling it like it was a relic, giving it a heady undertone and making it sound grander that it already was. From Axel's melody alone, Roxas already had the first song of the orchestra well underway.

_"… No one deserves to be alone…" _

The violin build up and then laid down, following the trick of the bow as Axel worked the fine hairs along the strings and tilted his head just so to pick up the right sounds from the wood.

_"Your music… is painful…"_

Leon stirred next to him, restless, and Roxas let out a hiss as the chair's squeaking disrupted the painting surrounding him. Axel didn't seem to notice it though, and his music carried on, a mournful song that made Roxas's heart burn. Did he mean for it to be?

_"Well then… Mr. Roxas Strife…"_

The song was ending. Roxas could hear it in the way that the other instruments were beginning to fade out, letting the violin have its last say, the notes dancing along the air and embracing him like they were real. He could feel it in the way that he could remember the soft brush of lips against his, and the brightness of the mistletoe as he swung above his head.

Slowly and hauntingly, the song ended.

Axel's eyes opened slowly and they seemed glazed over, like he wasn't sure exactly where he was. When Leon coughed though, he jerked his head up and his easy smile crossed his face as he calmly began to put the violin away, fingers brushing the wood lovingly as he set it in the case and then clasped it shut.

"Well then, Mr. Sinclair…" Leon cleared his throat again and then looked up with his dead, emotionless eyes.

"I call it, The Storm." Axel said simply.

"I can see why you-"

"He's hired." Roxas said softly, smoothly cutting Leon off. Leon jerked around to look at Roxas like he was stupid, but Roxas wasn't looking at him. His light blue eyes were glued to Axel's face as he felt his lips part once more and sound come out.

"He's hired. First chair, violinist."

There was a stunned silence at that, Axel's eyes widening a fraction before he let a small, open smile grace his face. Leon shifted restlessly beside him at his words, but Roxas ignored him to lean forward and place his elbows on the table, the subtle violin playing on in his head as he continued to stare at the person that made the music come alive and breathe right against his skin.

"When can you start?" He asked persistently. Axel raised an eyebrow, running a hand through his hair as he shrugged and shook his head.

"I'll work whenever you want me to, sir."

"Tomorrow. We start work tomorrow."

* * *

_Hit or miss? Let me know in a review!_

_I think the ending part is a little rushed... I don't know. That's what it feels like, at least. _

_How will I know?_

_You let me know, of course! _

_:D_

_So... I know, way to make Demyx sound insane... but I thought, hey... I can use this. Since he's a music guy, you know? I had to include him somehow, and that idea just popped into my head during Drill Team practice. Make sense? No. But still. And I love Axel. I don't know why, but I do. _

_I'll try to update soon!_


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